


Not Quite Nightmare Before Christmas

by spacewritermonkey



Category: Warrior Nun (TV)
Genre: Avatrice, F/F, Warrior Nun AU, camilil
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:47:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 23,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27119075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacewritermonkey/pseuds/spacewritermonkey
Summary: Holidays are coming and Ava's excited. Or, at least she was. Well, she still is. It's just kinda hard to get caught up in this fantasy she seems to have woken up in. A life that may not be hers.
Relationships: Sister Beatrice/Ava Silva
Comments: 138
Kudos: 393





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Where I hail from, we don't really do Halloween. As soon as September rolls in, it's Christmas through and through. This pandemic has changed things but the idea is still the same. Have a Christmas-themed avatrice fic, everyone.

Every morning when Ava wakes up, there’s a certain little ritual she goes through while still in bed. She keeps her eyes closed for a few seconds, taking deep even breaths, and taking stock of all her senses: particularly that of touch. Slowly, she checks to see if today’s the day the halo has finally given up on her.

After all, who knows if it dug itself out of her and crawled away in the middle of the night? And no, that imagery isn't because she still can’t get over the film ALIEN, from the first time she saw it until the third time she thought to watch it again in hopes of desensitizing herself.

She gently skims the pads of her fingers across the sheet beneath her and notices that they seem softer somehow and she briefly wonders if Camila went ahead with replacing the fabric conditioner with her homemade concoction. Ava feels the corner of her lips slowly turn upwards at the memory of Mary threatening Camila about how all she wanted were nice clean sheets.

_“I don’t need no goddamn spa in my room!” And Camila’s arched eyebrow and retort, “Have you ever been in one, Mary?” which had effectively shut up the older woman in the end._

Her toes wriggle against the blanket, basking in its cuddly levels of comfort, slowly stretching out her limbs, and with a soft grunt finally opens her eyes for one last confirmation that she's where she thinks she ought to be.

Only there seems to be a problem.

The ceiling above her is vastly different: wooden panels with a shine and deep hue she’s only ever seen on screen or on print, with a huge ornate ceiling fan instead of the dark depressing stone ceiling she remembers from when she closed her eyes last night. Without taking her eyes off of the sight above her, her hands repeat its usual path, flitting through the sheet beneath her until it bumps against a weight against her side.

Slamming her eyes shut once more, Ava wonders if she was too lazy to put her sword away properly last night. Unfortunately, it wouldn't be the first time. It was almost amusing the first time it happened, sitting in the infirmary trying to ask for a band aid for the divinium-related injury on her side when Beatrice came rushing in, frantic upon learning someone saw Ava walking the corridors while bleeding.

It was also quite the experience having to explain she wasn't attacked by anything other than her laziness.

But no. Nope. The weight is all wrong. There was a certain _give_ when she gently nudged against it.

Still firmly believing she can just keep her eyes closed like some superstitious ritual that she needed to perform until the very end, Ava slowly allows her right hand to make its way towards where she sensed the object lay...

...and instead felt something suddenly, yet gently, fall across her torso, wrapping itself around her, along with a warm weight that began to snuggle itself against her side.

Unable to help herself, Ava simultaneously opens her eyes and lets out a loud yelp in her poor attempt to figure out what the “something” was, jumping out of bed.

Or at least she tries to jump out of bed except, true to her ever-clumsy ass, Ava manages to catch sight of the _perp_ AND tangle her legs in the blanket; thus, falling out of bed and straight onto the floor.  
  
Ava hadn't even been able to make sure she was completely awake before the object of her utmost surprise and confusion suddenly makes itself known by peering over the side of the bed, blinking sleepily back at her.

"Ava? You okay, luv? Was it another nightmare?" The voice is a bit low and husky from time spent asleep. The Warrior Nun had rarely heard it—only when on the road for a long while and taking what shuteye they could afford while en route.

At the back of her head, Ava can’t help but take note that Beatrice’s accent seemed more prominent whenever she was just a little too tired or still half-asleep.

 _Beatrice_. _Beatrice is—was—was beside me. In bed. We shared a bed._

Ava’s frantic thoughts have begun to pile up in her head, along with her observation of the sight before her. And never mind that she's never seen Beatrice in her sleepwear before! Okay. Maybe she had that one time. But it was totally by accident and she's pretty sure she slammed her eyes shut immediately to avoid seeing anything else she wasn’t supposed to.

Except the Beatrice before her is...different, Ava stares unabashedly.

Dare she say it...pretty. Prettier?

Her hair is much longer than she thought it would be since she's only seen the nun let her hair down literally like less than a handful of times. And... OH GOD. Since when did Beatrice sleep with so much skin available for her eyes to feast on??!

Ava once again slams her eyes shut tight, ass still set smack dab on the stone cold floor—

—what floor now?

Ava's hands make their way once more in trying to make sense of her surroundings. Unable to deny the need, Ava opens her eyes to confirm what she felt and saw a gleaming hardwood floor beneath her instead.

_What the fuck?_

Ava tries to check if she can remember going someplace else other than Cat’s Cradle.

No. Nowhere else, really.

Then, she tries to recall actually going to bed—more so, going to bed with _someone_ , but the answer to that was thankfully a huge NO.

The last thing she honestly can recall is trying to actually fall asleep after…

 _After arguing with Beatrice_ , Ava somberly recalls.

* * *

A week before Christmas and Ava suddenly realized that there was nary a décor in sight. As soon as she took note of this offense against the upcoming festivities, she had begun campaigning about getting into the Christmas spirit by at least putting up decorations and whatnot around Cat’s Cradle. However, everyone was knee-deep into research as well as trying to create strategies and plans against Adriel and Vincent.

“I thought you wanted to be the last Warrior Nun? Why won’t you focus?” Lilith’s voice was soft, or at least soft-er, as was her intent to be more patient and more approachable for the sake of the newer recruits—and Ava.

“I do! But…can’t I look forward to the holidays like everyone else?”

“You’re the Warrior Nun. Might be a little bit hard to ride the holiday extravaganza. Especially with an otherworldly being after you.” Mary contributed to the conversation while polishing one of her shotguns.

“C’mon you guys! Christmas is coming and…don’t you guys want to get into the spirit of decorating at least?” Ava tried to inject her cheer into cajoling Mary and the nuns.

“I mean, isn’t this like the holiday of holidays for Catholics? C’mon ‘It’s your boy, Jesus!’—”

“Ava!”

The Halo Bearer was in the midst of trying to mimic the moves of a rapper—or at least what Mary hopes was a rapper, otherwise that was just borderline disgusting—until Beatrice’s voice rang sharply enough to bring Ava to a halt.

“What?”

Ava’s voice is a tad soft and hesitant. Everyone knew Beatrice seldom raised her voice and much rarer with said voice directed at Ava. Looking at the furrow between said nun’s brows and thin line of her lips, Ava felt her shoulder drop in disappointment.

To be honest, perhaps had it been any other season or time of the day, Beatrice might’ve been immediately contrite and asking Ava’s forgiveness for snapping.

Sadly, that day was not today.

“Please focus. We’re trying to come up with viable plans and you’re not exactly…” Beatrice’s voice started off sure and imperative until it began to peter off to nothing when her voice turned to hold a tone of uncertainty.

“What? Not exactly what?” Suddenly, Ava’s voice had turned defensive, arms crossed in front of her, and that belligerent glint in her eye whenever the Halo Bearer decided she was _done_.

Lilith, Mary, and Camila all exchanged glances.

Beatrice and Ava rarely butted heads. They might get into a bit of disagreement, but for the most part everyone noted that both were more willing to compromise when it came to dealing with each other. Ava wasn’t as chaotic and as reckless, and Beatrice wasn’t as rigid with the rules and as standoffish.

However, on the rare occasion that they did…the three other members of the team lamented being subjected to the uncomfortable tension between the two. It often involved Ava being petulant and Beatrice being…well…

“If Beatrice turns into a raging B word, may the Lord forgive me but I’m hiding in my work room.” Camila whispered as she didn’t dare turn her eyes away from the two ladies who seemed eager to let their feelings known—and not even the real feelings Camila wishes they’d just admit to.

“Same. I’m beginning to see a road trip in my immediate future. I’ve got CIs I need to put a little pressure on.” Mary added before turning simultaneously with Camila towards Lilith.

“What? Me? Bloody hell, no.” Lilith hissed.

“Language.” Camila instinctively reprimanded the woman.

“Language would be the least of your problems if you two think you’re going to leave me with those two.” Lilith pointed at the pair—whose voices have risen enough to recapture their attention.

“I’m doing my best here, Beatrice. I’m trying. But it never seems to be enough, right?” Ava snidely asked.

“I never said anything disparaging about your efforts, Ava. Do NOT put words in my mouth.”

“I WISH I could put this damn book in your mouth! How about THAT, _lover of words_?” The mockery was clear in Ava’s tone and the hardening of Beatrice’s eyes normally would’ve clued in Ava to the hurt said words inflicted. Unfortunately, the Warrior Nun was too caught up in her emotions to notice.

“All I wanted was to maybe celebrate Christmas even for a day. And maybe throw a bunch of decorations out there—just SOMETHING. It doesn’t even have to be the entire Cat’s Cradle! One room! Just one room, Bea. Is that too much to ask?”

“Really Ava? One room? You say that now, but one room will inevitably involve even the garden when it comes down to it.”

“And so? What if it does? Don’t we deserve a break? Jeezus, Bea. The way you seem so averse to my idea it’s as if you hate Christmas.” The statement was made in rhetoric, but the blank expression that took up Beatrice’s face possibly said more than words could.

* * *

"Ava? Ava, what's wrong?"

Looking back up, the Halo Bearer finally takes notice of just what Beatrice is wearing—and what she isn’t. Still unable to get over the expanse of skin she’s trying so hard not to trace with her eyes, Ava tries to avert her gaze. But not without taking note that the cloth the nun wore appears to be something thin with spaghetti straps.

_WHY?! WHY IS SHE WEARING SUCH FLIMSY THINGS TO BED?! Doesn't she get cold??! She could get a cold!_

Ava figures she should shift her whole attention onto anything but the woman in front of her before she blurts out something totally inappropriate.

 _That’s right. She’s a nun. So, keep your eyes in your sockets, your hands to yourself, and whatever you got going in your pants right where it should be_ , an internal voice that sounds an awful lot like Lilith reminds Ava.

"Beatrice..." Ava's voice finally makes itself known, just as the other woman seems to have finally kicked in to a more lucid state, managing to free herself gracefully from the clutches of the evil blanket in order to crouch down beside the younger woman.

Immediately, Ava's side of her face is cradled in Beatrice's palm, thumb stroking so gently against the skin of her cheek. "Did you have another nightmare?" The concern, the worry in Beatrice’s eyes nearly undoes Ava in its intensity, along with an emotion the Halo Bearer’s not quite sure she understands.

 _Don't look down. Don't look down. Don't look down._ Ava tries chanting in her head, knowing just what sight would greet her if she even GLANCES for one hot fucking second. She will not betray Beatrice's confidence in appearing so...casual with her. Speaking of casual… again, Ava feels her eyes threatening to sneak a peek at the rest of the enticing woman before her. She’s not even going to think about what else Beatrice was wearing. No, she wasn’t.

So instead, Ava clears her throat, thinking of a way to buy herself some time—not to mention get her mind out of the goddamn gutter—by encouraging her eyes to settle on anywhere else BUT Beatrice.

Only to be surprised by the realization of where she finds herself at.

Forget the ceiling, forget the floor.

This is DEFINITELY not her room. In fact, it doesn’t look anything like Cat's Cradle, nor any other place she’s been to since…well, since ever.

Yet, before her eyes can even take stock of the full furnishings of the room she and Beatrice are in... something else catches Ava’s eyes that register a rather damning piece of evidence.

"Ava?" _The voice definitely sounds the same_ , Ava thinks even as she cannot seem to move on from the picture before her. Instead, she flits her gaze between the woman she thinks she knows, and the woman in the rather LARGE portrait on the fucking wall, while trying to make sense of something—anything.

Beatrice finally relents and follows Ava's gaze, and to the Warrior Nun's surprise lets out a chuckle.

"I thought Camila was joking when she said she was going to paint us a portrait as a late wedding present slash anniversary present. I also did _not_ expect her to give us one that nearly cost us our entire bedroom wall."

 _How convenient_. _This is what it must be like to have a full-blown stroke_ , Ava mused right before the edges of her vision start going black. The last image engraved in her mind, the sight of Beatrice in a wedding dress, caught mid-laughter and with her arms around what definitely appears to be her bride—her wife: Ava.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ava struggles to understand what's going on and perhaps what it could mean.

Of course, Beatrice would know something was up. Though the rest of the team were no slouches when it came to the brain department, Beatrice often took things a little bit further with her tendencies as an overachiever. Go figure she’d know something was wrong—or at least, that something was wrong with Ava.

Then again, perhaps Ava turning her cheek at the last second when Beatrice suddenly leaned forward to kiss her might have had something to do with the revelation.

Though Ava wouldn’t mind being kissed by the former nun ( _I sure hope she’s no longer a nun if we’re supposed to be married_ ), a part of Ava felt that she was doing a disservice to the woman who obviously thought of her as someone she was _not_. And regardless if this was a dream, or a prank, or some alternate reality or whatever…she owed it to Beatrice to stay honest. She owed it to both of them.

Hurt immediately flashed through Beatrice’s eyes, the beginnings of a question halfway spoken, “Ava? What’s…” before trailing off as something seems to dawn in said former nun. In a flash, Beatrice was standing up and a foot away from the younger woman, stance familiar in its defensive position.

To her credit—and perhaps Ava’s good fortune considering how Beatrice could totally kick her ass if she wanted—the older woman looked at her strangely before asking, “Ava?”

Sighing in relief, Ava hurried to stand up with her hands held out in front of her in a placating manner. “It’s me. I have no idea what’s going on, but if you’re Beatrice, it’s me.”

* * *

Beatrice had immediately changed clothes, much to Ava’s relief.

Ava thinks she must have imagined the small smirk on Beatrice’s lips when the latter turned to start undressing before even reaching the confines of their en suite bathroom. Ava, on the other hand, being mostly uncomfortable with trying to rummage in clothes that _might be_ hers, decided to stick to her sweatpants and ratty shirt.

In less time than she’d expected, Beatrice emerged from the bathroom wearing leggings and a flannel button down plaid. Something must have been obvious in Ava’s eyes as Beatrice arched an eyebrow in her direction as if daring the younger woman to say something.

Grinning sheepishly, Ava then mimes zipping her mouth shut.

Obviously expecting Ava to follow, Beatrice walks out of the bedroom and into a hallway where a few framed photos elicit a small gasp from the Warrior Nun.

It’s them. The two of them.

Unable to help herself, Ava pauses in the middle of the hallway, inspecting the images and wondering at what world she’s found herself in. A few of the photos seem to capture them in front of one famous landmark after another from all over the world: US, France, UK, Australia, Peru, Canada, and by the look of a huge robot, Japan.

“You wanted to see the world.” Beatrice’s soft voice startles Ava, bringing her back to the present.

“I’m sorry.”

Ava’s unsure what she’s apologizing for: for looking at photos she had no right to? For existing in the here and now?

“It’s okay.” Beatrice turns her gaze back onto the photos with a fond smile shaping her lips. “We had our fair number of adventures.” After a second, she seems to remember the weird predicament they are in and her eyes return to meet Ava’s. “I may have an idea what’s going on.” Beatrice simply says and turns back around, headed for the stairs.

Ava tries to keep quiet, entertaining herself by taking stock of the house she—or at least a version of herself—lives in. From their brief walk from the room upstairs to the floor below, Ava caught a glimpse of what might be called a den, at least two closed doors leading to who knows what, a spacious living area with a huge flat screen, more photos lining the mantle of a fireplace, and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. Lots of bookshelves. That didn’t even include the formal dining space she had gawked at before nearly smacking herself with the swinging door that led to the kitchen.

The spacious kitchen looked way too shiny for Ava’s taste. But given the woman a version of herself ends up marrying, she’s not too surprised. Even with the relatively short amount of time they’ve known each other in her “other” life, Ava’s deduced Beatrice hails from more than just money. Her friend was likely the kind whose bloodline ran deep among the founders of history. Much like Lilith probably. They rarely spoke of their lives before the OCS, but what little the two women let slip, was more than telling.

Beatrice motions for Ava to take a seat on one of the high stools by the kitchen counter. There’s also a kitchen island where Beatrice busies herself over the stove as she prepares a kettle of water to boil. Soon enough she’s opening cabinets, drawers, the fridge, and before Ava can even comment on what Beatrice is doing, the smell of something mouthwatering prompts a growl from her stomach. With a knowing grin, Beatrice places a steaming mug in front of her, followed by a plate full of toast, bacon, and an omelet. A bowl of mixed fruit also makes its way beside said plate, which Ava barely notices until Beatrice taps her hand and knowingly motions toward it: the meaning clearly that she expects Ava to finish said bowl as well.

In a few more minutes, Beatrice takes the seat beside her, bowl of cereal and her own mug of tea.

Ava peers into her own mug and shoots a questioning look at the other woman.

“It’s coffee. The way you like…it.” Beatrice realizes a bit too late the meaning of her words.

A moment of silence before Beatrice carefully and slowly swirls her spoon around her bowl and asks, “How old are you?”

Ava seems taken aback by the question, but answers nonetheless. “Um…19?”

The stem of the spoon dropping against the rim of the bowl mildly startles Ava who looks at the sardonic smile the other woman shifts to cover with her now free hand, other clenched into a loose fist atop the table.

“19.”

“Um…is that…a problem?”

Beatrice shakes her head but appears to refuse to look at her.

“Should I…” Ava clears her throat and chooses to stare at her plate instead. “Should I go?”

“And where will you go?” Though flat and emotionless, the question snaps Ava into a fit of righteous anger.

“I don’t know, Bea! I don’t even know where I am, what I’m doing here—”

“You’re 19.” Beatrice cuts her off, finally meeting her gaze with something akin to sorrow in her eyes that effectively stops Ava mid-rant. “You probably haven’t even had enough coffee to know what you ‘like’.” The reference to her own earlier faux pas hangs in the air.

“You said you might know what’s going on.” Ava reminds Beatrice, choosing not to dwell on how her age seems to pain the other woman.

With a small sigh, Beatrice foregoes her breakfast, pushing it all to the side for room to clasp her hands together in front of her as she stares at Ava.

“It was the first thing that hit me when you…avoided my kiss.” Despite her best efforts not to, Ava blushes at the memory.

“You look young. Or at least younger than my Ava.” The emphasis on “my” was not lost on the younger woman.

“Are you saying I’ve…what? Time travelled?”

Beatrice hums noncommittally. “Well your confusion certainly fails to suggest you might have simply found the fountain of youth or something.”

“Maybe this is all a dream. Or some hallucination.”

“That is easily more believable for you?”

“I have a fucking metal in my back, Beatrice. After having been resurrected from the dead. Pretty sure anything is possible and is ‘easily more believable’ at this point.”

“You’re upset.”

“Well fuck yeah, I’m upset!”

“Mind your language, Ava.”

“Are you fucking kidding me right now? I’m here and this…this…” Ava’s hands flail and seem to struggle to gesturing towards her own figure, “…WOMAN who’s supposed to be your wife or whatever is what—is she back where I’m supposed to be at? Is that it? While I’m stuck here?”

“Hey! That’s my wife you’re talking about.” The warning in Beatrice’s voice is evident.

But the toll of everything Ava’s discovered upon waking up has suddenly began to make itself known. Which in Ava’s own opinion was pretty decent since she could have cussed up a storm from the moment she woke up in bed with a companion.

“YES! Your wife! Let’s talk about that instead. What the hell, Beatrice?!”

The anger in Ava’s voice takes Beatrice by surprise. The hurt all too obvious and the younger woman slowly realizes how her question could have been misunderstood.

Which was a given when Beatrice suddenly stands up and swipes her unfinished breakfast and drink away from the table, heading for the sink.

“I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry. Bea—”

“You’re upset. I’m upset. Let’s refrain from talking for awhile, shall we?” The terse reply from the other woman shuts Ava.

For a moment.

“I’m sorry, Beatrice.”

With nothing but silence from the other woman, Ava continues. “You mentioned before that not everything is about me. And yet here I am freaking out about my situation when…when you just lost your wife while I’m—”

The clattering of porcelain against marble precedes Beatrice’s vehement words, along with the fierce glare she shoots at the other woman.

“She’s not gone. Don’t ever talk about my wife like she’s not coming back.”

And then Beatrice storms out of the kitchen, leaving Ava all alone.

_Will I ever say anything right?_

* * *

With no idea on what to do with herself, Ava decides that maybe finishing her breakfast at the very least might be something. Unsure of when or if Beatrice would return— _of course she would, you dumbass. This is her house._

Right.

In no time at all, Ava’s wiped her plate clean as her hunger at least remains unaffected, and takes another look at her mug before venturing to take a sip.

Scrunching her eyes upon first taste, the sweet nonetheless settles well with her tastebuds that Ava chooses to take another sip.

And then another.

Hmm. Maybe she could get used to coffee.

After cleaning and rinsing her plate and utensils, Ava cradles the mug in her hand close as the ever-curious part of her wonders if she could—should?—take a look at the rest of the house.

Although after spying the window curtains to the side… _maybe we can start with “where do we even live?”_

However, before Ava could lift a finger to pry one part of the curtain aside, a small voice startles Ava once more.

“Mama?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look! An update! Short, I know. But bear with me. The rest of the holiday's upcoming festivities will have to wait while our girls get some things sorted out. Yeah? I'm all for Christmas. It's gonna happen, don't worry. Just in case any of you are as much of a sucker for it as I am.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With one surprise comes another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because someone accused me of skipping Halloween...

_Oh, fuck me—wait. What if that’s exactly why someone’s calling you “mama”?_

_FUCK!_

_Wait._

The voice sounds small enough like it could have come from a pint-sized human. Which wouldn’t normally be a problem considering Ava’s always gotten along better with kids compared to adults.

It’s just…

“Mama?”

The sound repeats.

Someone actually thinks she’s their mother. Her. Ava.

Slowly, Ava resigns herself to her fate and turns around to meet whoever this person is.

Clad in a red onesie, and still sleepy by the looks of an adorably chubby little hand rubbing itself against their eyes.

_Oh God. It IS a kid._

Before she could even attempt to come up with a response to the title bestowed upon her, the door swings open and Beatrice reappears.

“Is this house haunted?” are of course the first words out of her mouth.

“What?” The confusion is palpable as Beatrice focuses her attention on the child instead, whom in their half-asleep state stretches out their arms in the universal language of wanting to be picked up, which the older woman easily responds to.

“Oh. The kid’s real…” Ava mutters, which is still audible enough for Beatrice whose senses must not have dulled even after all these years—however many that might be.

“Did you just mistake our child for a ghost?” Ava can see amusement and offense vying for a spot in Beatrice’s eyes, so the halo bearer decides to overlook the “our” part for the moment.

“Uh…we…I mean you. You guys have a kid.” _Way to state the obvious, Ava._

Ava observes as Beatrice’s eyes soften when turns her gaze upon the child. It’s no look Ava’s seen on her before. The little guy burrows his head against the crook of his mother’s neck.

_Mother. Jeezus._

Ava feels her heart clench and stumble a beat when said pair of eyes open and shift to land upon her, showing a mesmerizing shade of brown—hazel perhaps? A messy mop of dark hair skimming just over their delicate brows, which moves to form a tight furrow in between. His scrutiny turning into childlike displeasure.

Oh. He doesn’t look happy to see her.

“Mama!” She’s unsure what that particular “Mama” meant but Ava’s certain it didn’t hold the same affection as when he was asking for her earlier.

“Okay. What’d I do??” The whine and hint of panic very much obvious but Ava’s quite past caring.

Beatrice tries not to roll her eyes but fails as she shifts the boy in her arms, trying to distract him by a trip to the fruit basket for something he could snack on. Shaking his head, Beatrice looks somewhat unsure of what to do next. An observation that baffles Ava.

“You—his mama—spoils him a little too much. He calls for her and she’s there. Practically at his beck and call really.” Beatrice moves instead to place him in a highchair which is something Ava thinks she should have noticed much earlier.

Ava keeps her distance, watching as the boy looks at her with frustration and starts banging his fist on the small table outfitting his throne.

“Mama!”

“Ssshh, Sam.” Beatrice leans down to brush a soothing kiss against the top of his head. “Mama is a bit tired right now…” Beatrice trails off and Ava notes the concern she’s trying to mask. And it hits Ava all over again that more than ever, things are no longer just about her. How could Beatrice explain to a child something that the adults haven’t even begun to fully understand themselves?

 _Fuck. We can’t even finish a goddamn conversation_.

No matter. This was not the kid’s problem to deal with.

Closing the distance easily between her and the kid, Ava can’t help but smile when the little boy automatically lifts up his arms again.

“You don’t have to—” Beatrice starts, but Ava simply shakes her head and moves to pick him up.

“Is Sam short for Samuel or something?” The boy hums contentedly and damn it if he isn’t a cutie the way he quickly seems to fall asleep in her arms.

“No. His name is actually Charles. Charlie for short.”

Hearing the name, the boy immediately wakes up to protest with a frown and a shout. “No! Sam I am!”

Wincing at the volume demonstrated by the boy near her ear, Ava gently rubs the child’s back, trying to soothe him back down to sleep mode.

“He gets a little obsessed with whatever new book he happens to fancy.” Beatrice explains.

“Ah. Seuss.” Ava grins at the suddenly docile boy.

“Last week he wanted to be called chicken.” The older woman sighs as she moves about the kitchen obviously to prepare food for the child in question.

Ava arches an eyebrow at that. Beatrice shrugs, “There was this very old cartoon you just HAD to show him. Cow and Chicken, I think.”

At this, Ava cackles out loud. Charlie looks up at her in surprise, though before Ava could even begin to apologize for disturbing him, the boy simply begins to laugh, obviously trying to mimic his mama.

“Oh boy. Yeah. Cow and chicken. That was a good one.” Ava is attempting to get her laugh back under control until the swinging door catches her eye just in time to see a little girl enter the kitchen.

“Hey.”

Ava gapes in shock and immediately turns to Beatrice with “Jeezus Christ, Bea. How many are there?!”

* * *

With a sigh, Beatrice hurries to prepare two sets of breakfasts and instructs the girl, who looked older than Charlie but perhaps no older than 10, to take their meals in the dining area as she needs to speak with Ava.

The little girl shoots Ava a suspicious look but acquiesces and takes Charlie by the hand who had demanded to be let down when he caught sight of the older child.

“C’mon, Sam.”

“No! I chicken now!”

The door swings shut once more, leaving both women in an awkward silence.

“First off, how old am I in…this life?” Ava breaks first.

Leaning against the counter with her arms crossed, Beatrice dons a blank look as she replies. “28.”

“Holy shit.”

“Language.”

“Yeah, yeah. I get it now.”

“Do you?”

“Jeezus, Bea. Two kids??” Ava hisses, obviously trying to keep her voice down.

“Is this…” Ava gestures with her hands outward, motioning to the space around her. “Is it safe to say that _this_ is my future?”

A flash of worry makes itself known in the former nun’s eyes before it just as quickly disappears.

“Why don’t we start with the last thing you remember?”

Ava sighs and begins to pace.

“I was trying to get everyone onboard the idea of Christmas. Or getting a tree at least. I dunno. Just something to remember and celebrate the coming holidays with.”

A look of realization dawns on Beatrice.

“But I didn’t agree.”

Ava whirls around to observe the other woman. “Yeah. Well, you certainly weren’t jumping at the idea.”

Beatrice looks down at her feet. “I said some things.”

“Well. To be fair I said some things too.”

A moment of silence passes before Beatrice sighs deeply, running her hand through her hair, as she nods as if to herself. “What? You’ve thought of something.” Ava prods.

“I think you exchanged places with my wife—my Ava.”

“You’re sure?”

“I remember now. We’ve been trying to make headway into our research. We argued about the holidays, the decorations, and it just escalated to a whole other thing. I woke up the next morning hoping to apologize. But you were gone.”

“Gone…like just poof?”

“You were gone but the older you…you were there.” And a fond smile forms upon her lips, obviously lost in her memories.

“Holy shit, Bea! You totally crushed on my MILF version?!”

Beatrice turns a little bit too red while Ava’s knees nearly buckle as she laughed.

“It wasn’t like that at all!”

“Yeah. Yeah, sure. Boy, I hope I remember this moment when I get back.”

An awkward silence descends upon them upon remembering that they currently had no idea _when_ Ava would be able to exchange rightful places with her older version.

“So uh…are they…um…are they like…biologically ours?” Ava points her thumb towards the direction of the door.

Beatrice smirks. “I’m tempted to mess with you and say yes. But no.” Her smirk turns into a somber smile as she absently looks at a point somewhere beyond the walls of the house.

“We—Ava and I—registered to become foster parents. We’re currently in the midst of getting approved to adopt them.”

“Oh.” Ava doesn’t quite know how to react to the news, but thankfully Beatrice continues, relieving her of the need to react just then.

“We talked about it at length. I didn’t care how; I just knew I wanted to be parents with you. You were the one who had a firmer stance upon adopting. Especially with—”

“—especially with what I went through at the orphanage.” Ava helpfully supplies.

Beatrice merely nods. “You once joked about ‘adopt don’t shop’.”

“Sounds like my humor hasn’t aged as much as me at least. I assume the means of ‘shopping’ for donors is still a thing.” Ava grins. Beatrice could only roll her eyes in response. She’s more than learned when to curb Ava’s other less savory jokes.

The abrupt sound of “Mom” echoing from outside the kitchen distracts them both.

Beatrice starts, “Listen. I know we have to talk further about this…”

Ava shakes her head, preempting what she already knows the other woman wants to say. “I get it. Kids, life, it happens. It’s happening right now as we speak.”

“I don’t know how to even explain this to them.” Beatrice shoots a worried look in the direction of where the kids are waiting.

“If they don’t ask, don’t tell.”

“Charlie’s pretty much your carbon copy really. So, I think you can handle each other.”

“And the girl?”

“Her name’s Sarah. She’s a little…harder to crack. But she looks up to you too. You usually make sure to greet them both in their rooms every morning. She’s bound to already be suspicious about the change in routine.”

“Okay. What’s the agenda for today?”

“I have to work for a bit in the office downstairs. It’s the holidays, so…mostly I leave you three in the simple hope you guys stay safe and leave the house intact.”

“Is that all? Sweet!” Ava’s grin widens, claps her hands once loudly, and begins to head off marching out to the dining area.

“Ava, if you need anything—”

“Yeah, I got this. Go work, supermom.” Ava waves distractedly with one hand.

Before the door could even swing back, Beatrice hears Ava’s loud voice go “Nun-chuck!” immediately followed by a squeal and an excited voice reply with “Mama!”

Beatrice feels her legs weaken, her hand grabbing for the nearest solid surface.

How could she have forgotten?

All these years…how could she forget that this could be an eventuality?

No matter. She got her Ava back in the past. That much she remembers, or they wouldn’t be here at all to begin with. Surely that means things would go back to the way they are supposed to be. Right?

Perhaps it’s time she called the others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...there. If you missed the lil' halloween tribute though, sorry. Also, is Ava finally getting the holiday cheer she wanted in the next chapter?


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit more uncovered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. It's amazing what I get done when I get regular sleep.

Beatrice lets out a sigh of relief as soon as she places her phone down, which is immediately followed a by a stifled gasp as the door to her home office nearly slams against the wall as it opens, Ava making an appearance as she strides right in.

“Tell me the truth, Bea. Is Sarah by any means related to Lilith? Or her clone even?”

Beatrice pinches the bridge of her nose.

“We’ve talked about this at length before. No, Ava. Sarah is not related at all to Lilith. What did she do this time?”

“Oh, nothing really. But she really does have the look of contempt and disappointment down to a T.”

“Okay then. What did you do?”

“First of all, rude. Second, I just wanted to build a blanket fort.”

“Where?”

“In the living room, duh.”

Beatrice arches an eyebrow just as she leans back against her seat. Ava is a bit distracted, taking note of the room and the little details that make up this space that’s supposed to be her future wife’s woman-cave by the looks of it. She thought the rest of the house had enough shelves but apparently not enough by the looks of this space.

“The one downstairs?”

“Which floor? Hot damn, woman! How many floors does this place have?” Ava throws up her hands in the air in disbelief.

“The first one then? And our house has five including the sunroom and roof deck.”

Ava’s eyes bulge in further disbelief. “Five?! What the fuck? Who needs five floors—do we plan to raise enough kids to form a sports team or something?!”

“That implies you even like sports. It’s a townhouse. The floors are pretty much a standard. The first floor is a receiving room; it’s for entertaining guests. Blanket forts are meant for a more private space: either a bedroom, or the den which is on a different floor.”

“Okay. Wow. Does the present me know that?”

Beatrice grins. “It took you awhile.”

Ava rolls her eyes. “Ugh. I’m living with complete snobs.”

The older woman would have normally taken offense, but she’s had years to get used to the idea that Ava’s teasing was simply that: teasing. And this Ava—no matter that she was still years younger than the Ava she married—is thankfully the same. No bitterness, no judgement, no disgruntlement over something Beatrice technically has no hold over…it’s just one more thing Ava had easily come to accept as a fact.

“Where are the kids?”

Ava moves over to a small desk by the window, hands behind her back—a habit Beatrice knows Ava does when she’s trying not to touch things she’s unsure of, which elicits a fond smile from the woman.

“I left them in the entertainment room.” Ava rolls her eyes at the same time emphasizing the last two words, then shoots Beatrice a grin. “Love the pinball machine, by the way.”

Beatrice snorts. “You should. You were the one who brought that monstrosity in.”

Ava gasps as she pretends to be offended. “Monstrosity? That thing is a classic, Bea!”

“So you keep saying. And I’ll protest until my last breath that I can NOT believe one would ever call that thing vintage.”

“Pfft. You lack taste.”

“I married you.”

Ava whirls back around with a much louder fake gasp, complete with a hand over her heart.

“Woman! You offend me!”

“That’s what I said when you had the audacity to suggest ‘let’s get married in Vegas’.”

“I like the older me. She sounds like she’s still cool enough.” Ava grins smugly as she turns her back on Beatrice to keep perusing the other shelves that hold tchotchkes and some more photographs.

The older woman observes the younger version of the love of her life. Sometimes, when she looks over their pictures, she marvels at how much time have already passed. Some days it feels like meeting her and poring over the Warrior Nun’s journal was a thing that happened just recently. Other days, when they are trying to organize their schedule along with that of the children, it feels like they suddenly grew up without any warning.

Time is a funny thing indeed.

One thing is for sure about time, though: Beatrice feels like there’s never enough of it with Ava. They could spend eternity together and chances are she will always feel like wanting more.

Looking at _this_ Ava, she’s reminded of how she loved her first as a friend—inevitably falling for her along the way without her noticing.

“What did you think you’d be like when you grew older?” Beatrice can’t help but ask in light of Ava’s earlier statement.

Ava shrugs. “I dunno.”

Beatrice tilts her head slightly to the side, trying to ascertain if the other woman was being flippant.

“What do you mean you don’t know? You seemed surprised you were still ‘cool enough’. Did you think you wouldn’t be?”

Ava softly sighs as she makes her way to the window seat and plops down on it, elbow leaning over the top of the padded back rest.

“I’m more surprised I’m still alive.”

The statement freezes Beatrice completely, her hands unconsciously gripping the arm rests of her chair in worry and confusion.

“Did you…did you think you wouldn’t?”

“Bea, I’m literally a walking miracle by the Church’s standards and with a dude out for my head—if not my ‘battery pack’. Before all that, I was aging out of the system as a quadriplegic. I was useless. And I swear I tried, but…I couldn’t see much of a future before me. So yeah. I really didn’t think I would be alive long enough for any of these.”

And sometimes, Beatrice admits she forgets what Ava had to go through. Her wife tends to be so good in being the heart and soul of their family she fears overlooking this very thing she now sees in this younger Ava: her pain.

“Ava…”

“I have no idea why I’m here. But I’m glad.” Ava admits with an embarrassed look on her face.

Taking a page out of her wife’s handbook, Beatrice decides to deflect with humor to spare this Ava a conversation she may not be ready for. “Glad you married into money?” Beatrice teases.

Ava sports a sudden mischievous grin, gratefully taking the “out” she’d just been handed by her future wife. “Glad I married a hot woman.”

Though sporting a light blush dusting her cheeks, this Beatrice has spent enough time away from her past as a nun—not to mention spent enough time WITH Ava. She grins mischievously right back at the Halo Bearer. “You’re in NO way ready for this,” startling the younger woman a bit with the sultry smile and a hand gesture that motioned towards the rest of her body.

Ava musters a laugh though, “Says who?”

“Says me who’s way too old for you.” Beatrice smirks.

“Well, too old NOW, but…give me enough time…” Ava trails off suggestively.

Beatrice chuckles, “Oh please. Like you even noticed me THAT way from before.”

“You mean that first moment in Jillian’s lab was _nothing_?” The question puts a halt to their banter.

Beatrice pauses and shoots Ava an assessing look.

A beat passes before she slowly nods. “I thought it was just me. For some time, I thought I imagined it.”

“The fuck? Did you ever look in the mirror?”

Beatrice rolls her eyes. “I was still a nun back then. I haven’t even really ‘come out’ to anyone.”

“You did to me.”

“With vague words and underlying meanings.”

“Which I still totally understood.”

“I thought it was a stupid crush on the first person who happened to know the real me.”

“Damn, woman. I hope it didn’t take us forever to get a clue.”

With a sardonic laugh, the older woman shakes her head at Ava. “Oh, Ava.”

“What? What’s that ‘oh’ for?”

Beatrice stands up and glances at the watch on her wrist. “You’ll find out for yourself in due time.”

“Was that a pun?”

“If it was, then that was a poor attempt from me. We need to go get the children.”

“Wait. You haven’t told me what that ‘oh’ was for!”

“Did you ever hear of the ‘grandfather paradox’?” Beatrice responds as she walks out of the room, Ava hot on her heels.

* * *

“Seriously? Not even a clue?” Ava whines.

“Our guests are arriving soon.” Beatrice simply states as she peers around the doorway to the entertainment room and calls out to the children, “Hey guys. Your aunts are coming over.”

With joyful exclamations at the news, both children immediately run out of the room and before Beatrice can even raise her voice in warning with “No running down the stairs!” the sound of stampeding feet across hardwood make itself known.

Ava hears Beatrice muttering to herself, “We need to reinforce those steps.”

“Hey, Bea.”

“Yes?”

“You guys are decorating?” Ava motions towards the beginnings of what looked like wreaths and garlands in boxes set across one corner.

“We’re trying.”

“Trying?”

“I suggested a decorator but Ava—you—wouldn’t hear of it.”

“So you DON’T hate Christmas.” The question remained unspoken.

Beatrice shakes her head as she motions towards the stairs, obviously to follow the children and ensure they get there first to open the front door before the guests arrive.

“I don’t hate Christmas, Ava. It’s…it’s something you should ask _your_ Beatrice when you get back.”

“Well at least tell me you’re planning to forego the decorator. This is huge, Bea! So much space for you guys to go crazy over decorating!”

“I’m sure it will drive me crazy but not in the good way. In the three years we’ve lived here, we’ve yet to successfully decorate the whole place. Somehow, you’ve decided to take it on as a challenge every year to complete the whole thing.”

“And you bet I would!”

“Says those unopened boxes a week before Christmas.”

“Pfft. Just you wait, Bea—”

Whatever else Ava planned to say was interrupted by the sound of the doorbell ringing.

Or at least what Ava presumes is _their_ doorbell. It sounded like a bunch of chimes being gently beaten to produce a cacophony of noise. Ava can’t help herself and snorts, “Who decided on our doorbell sounding like a movie’s lame attempt at entry onto the afterlife?”

The kids’ shout of “they’re here!” is waylaid by another round of the so-called doorbell, and Beatrice sighs and throws Ava a baleful look as she makes her way to the door, “You did.”

Ava gasps, hand upon her chest in a dramatic fashion, “How dare me!”

Beatrice can’t help but chuckle at Ava’s all-too familiar humor.

Opening the door, Beatrice is greeted by the sight of their next-door neighbor instead, much to the pleasure of the children who took one look at the figure and immediately ran back to hide behind Ava.

“Hi, Beatrice!”

“Oh. Good morning, Mel.” Beatrice’s voice remains polite even as she’s confused by the appearance of the woman at such an early hour.

“Who is it?” Ava’s voice calls out loudly from behind Beatrice.

“It’s Mel.”

“Mel?”

“Mel our neighbor.”

“Oh, right. We have neighbors.” Ava comes into view, curious and concerned as to the children’s reaction.

“Hi, Ava.” Said neighbor’s saccharine smile and wave does not escape Ava’s sharp eyes as entirely fake. Fake tan, fake smile, and Ava’s pretty sure so’s probably 70% of said woman’s chest…

“Hi, Mel.”

“Is there anything you need?” Beatrice’s polite tone is in play, which sadly does not register enough for their neighbor who laughs in a too-high tone that Ava’s wife to be barely manages to hide her wince.

“Oh, ‘Trice. You’re so funny with your accent and all.”

Ava looks down at the children and mouths “’Trice?”

Sarah rolls her eyes as Charlie simply pouts and crosses his arms.

“I’m glad you find my accent humorous. Was there anything you needed? I’m afraid we are in the middle of expecting guests…” Beatrice trails off expectantly, but of course “Mel” couldn’t understand fast enough.

“Oh, speaking of guests! My husband and I are throwing a Christmas party. Maybe you and your uh…wife…would like to come?”

Ava could feel her ire growing, the way the insipid woman said the word “wife” like it was such an inconvenience. Unconsciously, the Warrior Nun began to clench her fists at her side, and suddenly Ava realized there’s a growing warmth behind her back, which snaps her back from her temper. She’d nearly forgotten about her halo. _Shit_.

She looks down and hopes the kids haven’t noticed a thing.

Did they know?

“If you would be so kind as to forward us a formal invitation with the details, my wife and I will determine if our schedule can accommodate such an event.”

Even with what little time Ava’s spent in the past with her Beatrice, she knows that was Bea-speak for a polite “thanks, but no thanks.”

Soon enough, Beatrice finally closes the door.

“I see we have ourselves an admirer.” Ava smirks.

“Please don’t. That woman is just…”

“A b word?”

Beatrice narrows her eyes at Ava, motioning subtly at the children still clinging on to Ava’s pant legs with a hand each.

“What B word?” of course Charlie wants to know.

“A bear, nun-chuck.” Ava grins and ruffles the hair on his head, eliciting giggles from their little man.

Sarah rolls her eyes in disbelief. “You should get those eyes checked out, kid. You roll em back too often it might get permanent.”

“Mom!”

“Ava!”

Ava laughs and reaches out to ruffle the young girl’s hair next, which Sarah dodges grumpily, but a smile trying not to make itself known teasing the corner of her lips.

The sound of the doorbell interrupts the family.

“I really hope that’s them.” Beatrice mutters.

“Wait. You said ‘aunts’ earlier. Whose aunts??” Ava realizes this detail a little too late.

“Damn, Bea. You look like you’re shacking up with a barely legal here.” The teasing voice sounds familiar. And with three women entering through the front door and turning automatically towards Ava’s direction—all with teasing grins on their faces, the Halo Bearer could only think, _of course_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to those who leave comments and kudos. Please, don't delve too deeply into theories and whatnot. I swear this shit is like an excuse for fluff (I'm trying) with a bit of crack, and drama with a bit of crack. Maybe. Actually, I have no idea where this story is taking me. So...hopefully you guys stick around for whatever comes next.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing much happens here. But...we're getting somewhere.

Ava’s by the corner, observing and trying to reconcile these people whom she knows—years before. They are a bit different now. Older, definitely. The grey hairs on Lilith’s look a whole lot more fashionable on her for one. Mary looks a perfect blend of ruggedly handsome, as far as Ava can come to put a description for her look. The leather seems to be doing wonders for making Mary as badass as ever definitely. Camila… Camila’s a wonderful surprise in Ava’s opinion. Sporting blue hair, Camila is a tad more talkative and tactile, based on the number of hugs Ava’s seen said woman bestow on the others—not even including the kids.

Ava feels a hand on her forearm, and looking down, traces its hand back to its owner who happens to be _their_ oldest child.

“Hi.” Ava greets the girl with a smile she hopes conveys enough cheer.

“What’s wrong?”

Ava tries to shrug, “Nothing’s wrong—”

“You told me we should always be honest with each other.” Sarah now sports a frown, retracting her hand. Ava can see familiar walls being erected between them as she tries to figure out what to say.

Reaching out a hand to place on the child’s shoulder, Ava tries for a nonchalant “I just woke up out of sorts today.”

Uncertain if her mother is being honest, Sarah sought to clarify. “What does that mean?”

Ava sighs and pats the seat beside her, trying not to act startled when Sarah takes the invitation and actually leans against Ava’s side. Going by her instincts, Ava wraps an arm around the little girl and tries to find the words that would be honest enough and simple enough to be understood by someone her age.

“I’m not feeling like myself today. If that makes sense.”

To her credit, the little girl looks as if she’s trying to understand, and after a moment, “Is that like when I wake up and I feel sad even when I know I shouldn’t be?”

Her words take Ava aback enough that she has no time to tamp down her reaction. Nor does she think she wants to. Concerned, Ava brushes some of the little girl’s bangs away from her eyes and asks, “Do you often feel that way? Like you’re sad even when you think there’s no reason to be?”

Sarah shrugs. “Before. But…not as much now.”

“Before?”

“Yeah. Before Charlie and I got to live with you and mum.”

“Okay. That’s good. Never be afraid of telling me or your mum if you feel sad, okay?”

Sarah nods and rolls her eyes. “I know. You always remind me and Charlie we can get hugs anytime we feel sad.”

Ava grins and ruffles the girl’s hair in teasing, “What’d I tell you about rolling your eyes?”

* * *

“Well at least this Ava still gets along with the kids.” Camila points out, as the rest of her sisters huddle around the pie she’s brought along for this visit. Half-expecting Ava to have escaped with a quarter already, Camila has to remind herself that this Ava is a bit different.

Beatrice looks up from her food and follows Camila’s gaze where her significant other to-be is currently involved in a tickling session with their eldest. Predictably, the sound of Charlie begging to join in on the fun soon follows.

“Considering she’s always been more comfortable indulging her childish side…” Lilith trails off with a grin and a shrug.

“Come off it, Lilith. Ava’s great with the kids.” Mary nudges the other woman while shooting Beatrice a smile which is ignored, focus solely on the young woman and the children.

“Bea.” Mary tries to regain Beatrice’s attention. The hand waving in front of her finally does the trick.

“Oh. Yes?”

“How are you doing?”

At this question, Beatrice feels herself flush at the penetrating stares she can feel from all sides. She tries to take a bite of a pie but puts the fork back down, unable to eat and unable to lie.

“I don’t know.”

Lilith arches an eyebrow, taking the seat beside Beatrice in the dining table where the latter lets her perfect posture relax, slumping back against her seat with a huff and closing her eyes.

“She’s my wife, but she isn’t, Lilith.” Beatrice’s voice is low. Slowly exhaling, she opens her eyes but keeps her stare fixed somewhere up on the ceiling. “We had an argument the night before.” Her voice is soft, as if in confession.

Mary and Camila exchange looks and take their seats, anticipating a more serious conversation than they had anticipated.

“You don’t need to tell us what it was about if you don’t feel comfortable, Bea.” Camila assures her former mentor.

“Of all things…it was about celebrating Christmas.” Beatrice scoffs.

“What about it? Ava loves Christmas. If she could start decorating as soon as September rolls in, she totally would.” Mary teases. Lilith nods. “She totally would. She’s the only idiot I know who cares about Starbucks’ season flavors.”

“Yes, well this year’s different.” Beatrice interjects, her somber tone bringing the rest back down from their reminiscing. “Ava wanted us to go on a vacation somewhere warm and sunny with a beach, she said.”

“Okay.” Camila draws out the word with a bit of a lilt towards the end, the only indication of her confusion.

With a frustrated huff, Beatrice resumes her stiff and tense posture, hands clasped in front of her, eyes down on the table. “I can’t…” Her knuckles begin to turn white, worrying the others.

It is Lilith who places a comforting hand on her shoulder which only serves to make Beatrice snap her gaze back upwards, flitting between each of her sisters.

“What if I did this? What if whatever this is that happened…”

“C’mon, Bea—”

“Years ago, Ava and I had an argument. Just like the one we had last night. We said things— _I_ said things. And the next day Ava’s gone…”

“…and in her place was older and wiser Ava.” Mary supplies.

“Older? Yeah. Wiser? Debatable.” Lilith’s teasing words are an obvious attempt to alleviate the mood, which Beatrice fails to pick up as she continues.

“Why can’t I do anything right? What if…what if she doesn’t make it back?”

“Woah. Okay, you’re getting ahead of yourself here, Bea.” Mary leans forward, trying to keep her voice low but at the same time wanting Beatrice to understand the sincerity and gravity of her words.

“I’m not going to pretend to even understand how time travel works. But the simple fact is, our Ava is of the right age to be where she’s at—our past. Our past that leads to this present we are in right now—Camila help me out here this shit is NOT my forte.” Mary looks desperately at Camila.

“Simply put, Bea. You would understand better than everyone here that everything that should have happened must have happened as they should have to bring us right to this pivotal moment in your history with Ava.”

“My Ava traveling back in time?”

“She certainly turned your head.” Lilith teases.

Beatrice blushes red.

The others exchange grins. “Baby H over there already ruffled your feathers back then but, seeing future her really did you good.” Mary motions with her thumb over her shoulder, gesture obviously pointing towards their Warrior Nun.

“It wasn’t exactly like that.” Beatrice mutters.

“You know you never did share anything at all about what went on between you two all those years ago.” Camila hints suggestively.

“Because there was nothing to tell! My God, Camila. I was still a nun.” Beatrice sighs and runs a hand through her hair.

“Mhmm. Didn’t stop you from looking though.” Lilith grinned.

“I’m still not saying anything.” Beatrice crosses her arms defensively.

“Okay, in all seriousness. Maybe we should let things play out. I mean, we DID get _our_ Ava back years ago.” Mary points out helpfully with a fork before diving back into her nearly forgotten plate.

“Hey! Are you guys talking about me? Or the other me?” Ava suddenly appears, cutting into their discussion.

Lilith rolls her eyes. “Sure. Our lives revolve around no one but you after all.” Mary throws Beatrice a look which the other avoids, getting up to collect their cutlery.

“Lilith. I’m so glad nothing but your hairstyle has changed.” Ava shoots back but her eyes track Beatrice’s movement, knowing that something was up.

“So. How about that elephant in the room?” Ava takes the seat Beatrice had vacated.

Mary shrugs and takes a sip from her mug before replying. “We wait.”

Ava frowns. “Beatrice calls you guys to come over and that’s the game plan? To wait?”

“Well what did you expect?” Camila asks with honest curiosity.

“I dunno!” Ava throws up her hands in the air in a fit of frustration. “Research? Battle plan? Brain storming? How do we fix this?”

Lilith arches an eyebrow. “Did it ever occur to you that we’re here because it’s the time of the year for us to be here?”

Ava snorts. “What, like guests?”

“Excuse you. We’re family.” Camila wags a finger in front of Ava in mock warning.

Ava stares at them incredulously. “Wait. Like…for real ‘aunts’?”

“I feel like we should be offended—should we be offended?” Lilith asks the other two.

Camila nods as Mary emits a snort and a wave of her hand. “Maybe we can give this Ava a break. It’s not like she would know.”

“But you’d think what little time we had already spent together before would be enough, right?” Camila retorts.

Before Ava can protest the conversation going on around her, or even demand for more information, the sound of Charlie suddenly shouting for his “mama” cuts her off.

Mary shoots Ava an undecipherable look. “Duty calls, mama.”

Despite her burning questions, the second time Charlie calls is more than enough to get Ava moving.

* * *

It’s nearing midnight.

Nearly all lights are out.

The sitting room is where Ava finds herself, tucked against one end of a long couch, staring absently at a spot beyond the boxes of decorations stacked by the corner. It was an interesting day to say the least. She woke up married, with kids, with an extended family made up of kickass women turned honorary aunts. So many questions are running in her head, but it seems as if there’s barely any time to get into things before either one or both kids clamor for the adults’ attention.

Ava wants to know so much more about what sort of life she leads in this present.

She wants to know _so much_.

Ava feels her breath quickening, and immediately, she wraps her arms around her knees, tucking her head between her knees, more or less trying to make herself as small as possible in that moment.

In a way, Beatrice was right.

They had a moment back in ARQ Tech, yes. But was that enough to clue her in that Ava—or at least future her—would apparently want to spend the rest of her life with someone who was essentially married to God back then? Ava tries to separate recent memories of future Beatrice from _her_ Beatrice.

The one in the past.

Ava knew as much that she felt closer to her than anyone else. Beatrice was the first to truly extend a kind word and an explanation in her direction. She was patient. She explained things to Ava in a way that made everything make perfect sense, so much so that to go against her and her explanation seemed the ultimate act of stupidity. And Ava knows she can be oblivious and careless and a whole lot of things but stupid wasn’t one of them. Despite Lilith’s teasing.

And when she fell into her arms that day…when she stared into the then-nun’s eyes, Ava felt something strange she’s never felt before. She felt her heart stutter, her breath hitch, and in that moment it was like every cliché from every romcom movie Ava had seen finally made sense.

But the moment was fleeting.

Or maybe it wasn’t the right time.

Yet, ever since then, something _more_ always seemed to hang between them. When Ava had something she wanted to talk about, felt like sharing, or felt the slightest bit strongly about, she knew who she wanted to turn to. Her conversations with Beatrice always stood out sharply in her memories. Every nuance, every move, every gesture, every smile… At night, Ava finds herself contemplating her interactions with nearly everyone but none more so than her interactions with her favorite nun.

Ava can’t help but wonder what it would be like if she woke up tomorrow morning back in her time.

Would—could—she see Beatrice any differently? Is this the turning point of _their_ story?

Anyway, it seems it’s not just their story that had taken a turn.

It was interesting to discover while she was in the middle of entertaining the kids, when Ava saw Lilith and Camila take each other’s hand and then head upstairs together, presumably headed for one of the guest rooms a floor above. Beatrice saw the look on her face but merely smiled knowingly. Mary went ahead and remarked about settling in for a bit and changing.

And tucking in the kids that night turned out to be a ceremony. Between the children trying to plea staying up later than usual as they were being spoiled by their aunts’ latest gifts and the aunts themselves being of no help with the sugar they kept plying them with, Ava wanted to kick all three women but worried about ruining the interior of the house in the process.

Charlie had to go through three books being read to him before Ava found herself putting her foot down when she saw him flagging while trying to plead for a fourth.

Sarah had hugged and kissed her and Beatrice goodnight without much fanfare though Ava noticed the little girl shoot a glance at her own shelf teeming with books. Before she knew it, Ava found herself offering to read a chapter with the girl which was met with a shy smile.

Beatrice had said her goodnight before leaving them alone.

When Sarah had eventually fallen asleep, Ava suddenly found herself bereft in a way.

There she was, in a house that wasn’t really hers, surrounded by a family she had yet to know. A life so far from her present she wonders if she could even begin to lay claim to any of it.

Like the woman who was probably lying in bed—their bed—alone.

So here she is, hours later. Alone.

Ava finally pulls her head back from the cradle of her knees and nearly startles when she meets that of her wife. Wife to be.

“Hi.” Beatrice whispers.

“Hi.” Ava whispers right back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to make this story fluffy. Emphasis on trying. I hope you folks are still hanging around.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A conversation. Lengthy shit.

There’s little light to see the other with, but the shadows seem to be just right for the mood they are in. Beatrice observes this young woman in front of her. The truth is that there’s little that sets young Ava from her future counterpart—Beatrice’s present. Perhaps there are a few more laugh lines in her wife that Beatrice is proud to say is borne out of the life they’ve managed to build for themselves. This Ava in front of her… Lord knows there is still so much ahead of her and she has no idea. A smile teases the corner of her lips at the thought of all that awaits her wife to be.

Until the more unsavory parts make themselves known in her catalogue of memories, causing the former nun to stiffen, a part of her wondering if perhaps she should give the younger woman a hint or two, perhaps a warning?

There is indeed still so much for Ava to discover, learn, and live through.

But as numerous stories of time travel have cautioned its readers, what if letting Ava learn more than she should means compromising her future? THEIR present?

_Yet, who’s to say what “more” is?_

“Will you tell me a bit more about us?” Ava’s question snaps her back into the then and now.

“What?” Focusing once more on Ava, Beatrice observes how the other’s gaze is directed at the window, sheer curtains allowing enough light from the nearby streetlamps to illuminate little of the vast room they are in.

“I get this feeling when I look at you, that you want to talk, like there’s so much you wish to tell me, maybe even ask me—even though I don’t see the point of that—but at the same time…something’s holding you back.” Ava shifts and their eyes meet. Both internally reflect on how they feel like they are on the cusp of knowing the other completely and yet…not.

Beatrice doesn’t break their gaze, though she gives a gentle nod once.

“I worry that every move I make or word I speak might compromise what we have here. Now.”

Ava tilts her head a bit to the side, calculating. “That grandfather theory you spoke of earlier.”

“Grandfather paradox.”

“You think somehow that in the event I find something I may not agree with or whatever…it could color or influence a decision I’ve yet to make.” Beatrice proudly smiles at the other’s eloquence, which slips past said woman’s attention. Ava’s always been terribly smart. It’s her focus she’s mostly have had problems with, really.

“Thus, setting a different path from the one we are supposed to be on now.” Beatrice completes the thought.

Ava stares at Beatrice in silence, something she rarely does. It’s enough to nearly unnerve the older woman. Thankfully, Ava has another question ready.

“Do I still have the halo here?”

Beatrice freezes.

The halo.

How could she have forgotten?

* * *

“Bea?”

Something in her question must have struck a chord in the ex-nun. Ava notices that something she can’t quite identify flits through Beatrice’s eyes until…

…her shoulders seem to relax, the rest of her body’s muscles seem to follow and loosen. Something in her gives way that Ava nearly gasps as she sees Beatrice… _unguarded_.

From what little time she has known Beatrice—either version, really—Ava’s always observed how the woman in front of her always appeared to keep things close. Never quite cold or frigid as some of the more bitter ones might have slipped in the past, but Sister Beatrice was—is—more quiet and observant rather than participative. She wouldn’t normally disclose first. Her words leaning more towards response and reaction. Rarely the first to act or speak. Always on guard. Always alert. Always on the lookout. Some nights when they would be out in the field, Ava had wondered if Beatrice ever really got proper rest. She was such a light sleeper. Always the first to snap awake and in position before any of them had truly even understood what “wake” meant.

And in the rarest of instances, Ava even ventured to hypothesize if Beatrice always looked so wary. She trusted them as a team, no doubt. But Ava sometimes felt as if Beatrice was always waiting for one of them to hurt her. To ruin what faith she had.

Frankly, a large part of who Sister Beatrice is, is what makes her one of the best sister warriors of the OCS—if not _the_ best—but Ava wonders if Beatrice ever gets tired of it all. If she’s ever allowed herself time to let the weight on her shoulders go.

But this right here. This woman in front of her _now_ …

It’s a sight to behold, Ava thinks. A softness in her eyes and in her smile Ava’s never seen before.

Ava feels something in her heartbeat trip.

 _Oh_.

Her fingers tighten their grip around her forearms, squeezing her arms’ hold around her knees a little bit more.

“You proposed to me on the same night I had planned to propose to you.” The soft cadence of Beatrice’s voice draws Ava in. Despite her surprise at the older woman’s words, Ava keeps silent, afraid to disturb whatever it is that has prompted the other to share something she badly wants to know, to learn, to understand.

Beatrice chuckles as she holds up her left hand and a brief glint of something metal catches Ava’s eye. Her ring. A wedding ring.

“I had spent so much time planning and everything. I had roped Camila in and even she was on the verge of overthinking the entire plan and in a fit of your usual spontaneity…you ruined three months’ worth of proposal planning.”

Ava tamps down her curiosity, though the look in her eyes must have spoken volumes as Beatrice laughs. “Three months. Just like that, down the drain. You didn’t even have a ring. Or a plan, of course. But you told me later on that you looked at me that night and that you just knew. So, you asked then and there.”

“I take it you said yes?” Ava can’t help but slightly tease.

“Of course. Although Camila had quite to say about the whole affair.”

A moment of comfortable silence passes between them, Beatrice looking at Ava, and Ava focused on the ring Beatrice wears.

“Are we happy?”

* * *

The question is another that sets Beatrice aback for the second time that night.

“We are.” Beatrice responds, even if a thought at the back of her mind nags away at said two words.

Ava looks at her with that gaze that seems so casual yet knowing all at once. For all of Ava’s penchant for jokes, crass humor, self-deprecating teasing, and other not-so-healthy coping mechanisms, Beatrice knows best that her wife holds an innate intuition for people she could only to possess. Sadly, what intuition she may have garnered for people were mostly borne out of learning and experience.

“You look at me like I’m her.” Ava’s look is still probing.

“You are.”

“Not yet.” Ava emphasizes the last word.

“We’ve established that.”

“You look at me like you want to confess something I have no business of knowing.”

And Ava hits the proverbial nail right on the head.

Beatrice looks back down at her hand, fiddling with her ring.

“It’s not a confession.” She whispers softly, half afraid and half hoping Ava hears anyway.

“What is it then?” Ava’s voice is just as soft. Perhaps they are both worried about disrupting this tentative bubble they find themselves in in the middle of the night, alone, shrouded in darkness that seems fitting. Like an old confessional reminiscent of a past for one, and reminiscent of what should have been present for the other.

Beatrice takes a deep breath as if bracing herself—for what, Ava has no idea.

“You asked if we’re happy.”

Ava’s eyes express worry, which Beatrice immediately seeks to assuage somewhat. “We are. For the most part.”

“What’s not covered by ‘most’ then, Bea?”

“You.”

“Me?”

“You haven’t been happy.” Beatrice trails off, scared to voice aloud the possibility.

“You think I’ve been unhappy here? With you? With the kids?!” The incredulity in Ava’s voice raises her pitch, causing the other woman to throw her a warning look.

“Okay. Look. No way. I barely have an idea what’s going on but I’m this close to calling dibs on _this_ life, Bea.” Ava holds up one hand with her thumb and forefinger separated by a miniscule space between.

“You either have your wires crossed with your wife or I knocked my head and garnered a personality change or some shit.”

At her words, Beatrice’s face scrunches up in a thoughtful frown.

“What?”

Beatrice musters a wan smile. “Well it’s not as if you haven’t knocked your head about a few times.”

Ava snorts and waves the joke away and poses her own question. “First off, why would you think future me is anything BUT completely happy?”

At this, the other woman pauses momentarily.

“Think of this as an opportunity to pick the brain of someone who knows your wife best.” Ava stretches out her legs in front of her, before changing her mind and shifting into a loose interpretation of the lotus position.

“That should be me, don’t you think?” Ava would be proud of the deflection if not for her eagerness to help. This is her future after all, right?

“Yes well. That’s currently in question because here you are doubting your wife’s happiness. Like what the fuck, Bea.”

“Language please, Ava.” Beatrice sighs.

“Yes, fine. Moving on. So what gives?”

Though her lips are pinched in a doubtful manner, Beatrice acquiesces.

“The night before, Ava and I had an argument.” She looks up at the younger woman who looks to be bursting with follow-up questions already, but given Beatrice’s expectant look, motions as if zipping her lips and tries to keep still.

“For as long as we’ve celebrated Christmas in this house, much like I told you earlier, it’s always been in our unending effort of going the ‘whole nine yards’ as you love to put it. Decorations, baking—”

“—we bake?”

“Camila bakes.”

“Good lord.”

“Shopping for a Christmas tree.”

“What? Do we not cut our own?” Ava sounds utterly scandalized at the idea that they “shopped” for a tree.

“First of all, nearly losing my hand amidst your desire to mimic a lumberjack complete with plaid flannel is funny now, but it wasn’t back then. Second, perhaps if you would stop trying to go for Christmas trees of esteemed height, then we could cut our own. As it stands, however, the answer is no.”

“It’s amazing how you could just weave a knuckle full of insults in that hell of a backhanded compliment.”

Beatrice smirks and exaggerates a slow single nod of her head in acknowledgement.

“It’s an art in subtlety, Ava.”

“I can hear the unspoken insult right there!” Ava points a finger in accusation, causing Beatrice to laugh.

“As I was saying—”

“—we’ve become the picture of domesticity.” Ava cuts in.

Beatrice rolls her eyes but sighs and offers up a smile comprised of both fondness and exasperation.

“Yes. Over the years, for as long as we’ve been together, we decided to make our own set of traditions. It’s never perfect and never quite works out as planned…but it’s us. It’s perfect for us.” Beatrice’s smile turns soft and introspective.

“Anyway. This year, something’s changed. We had been going on and on about the kids’ first Christmas with us—”

“—hang on, it’s their first Christmas this year? With you guys?” Ava’s brows scrunch in confusion.

“Yes. This is supposed to be their first here with us.”

“Sonofa—and she’s missing it?!” Ava isn’t entirely sure where her anger is coming from, although perhaps it’s at the situation as a whole.

“I wish Ava would display the same level of frustration you’re displaying at the moment.” The words seem to surprise them both: Beatrice, mostly for having let the words slip at all.

“What do you mean?”

Beatrice sighs and fiddles with the hem of her robe. Ava belatedly realizes that here, once again, sits before her this woman whose sleepwear might pose a problem later on.

“She’s been busier than normal. Missing dinner. Coming home late.”

“I’m working? I mean, she’s working.”

“Yes. She is. And I would never begrudge her the dedication she gives her job. It’s just the little things, you understand? And when she is home it’s as if she’s not entirely here.”

“Hold up.” Ava holds up one hand whilst beginning to shake her head. “This sounds like a bad foreshadowing in soap operas and movies where the out-of-character behavior leads to the other character suspecting cheating.”

“No! Ava would never!” Beatrice’s vehement response assuages Ava’s own fears. If Beatrice believes it and knows it, then she can as well. She can trust that her future self isn’t a complete fuck up.

“Okay. Your thoughts then?”

“Maybe suspecting Ava of being less than happy isn’t quite exact. The bottom line is this. My wife isn’t acting like herself. I have attempted to give her space but when I finally tried to ask her what was going on, she said she couldn’t tell me.”

“Couldn’t?” Ava sounds just as bewildered.

“Couldn’t. Not that she wouldn’t. I fear she’s in trouble or something.”

“Jesus. Of course. Because that would be so much more on brand for me.” Ava sighs.

Beatrice hesitates but eventually nods. “I have my suspicions, but…”

“But what? You’re killing me here, Bea. Tell me it isn’t the gardener.”

“What gardener?”

“I dunno, but somehow if it isn’t the gardener, it’s the driver.”

“Would you please be serious!” Beatrice nearly hisses in consternation.

“If I don’t crack a joke, I will bust something else instead, Bea and you know it won’t be pretty.” Ava rolls her eyes in return.

“This is my wife we’re talking about. I need this to be taken seriously.”

“Your wife, yes. But my life. _My_ future.” Ava jabs a finger against her chest in emphasis. Then, takes a deep breath.

“I could have NEVER imagined this wild of a story for my future—for me at all. Okay? I didn’t even know this life was an option. I didn’t even think I’d want it. But here we are, and I do—I _want_ this. So, if there’s anything I can do to prevent future me from fucking this up like her younger self has a tendency of doing? You can be fucking sure I am here to prevent that shit from happening. I never even thought I’d have anyone who cares for me as much as you apparently do. And in case it hasn’t dawned on your brilliant mind just yet, I do take this very seriously, Beatrice. I am serious about THIS life, THOSE kids…I’m serious about YOU.”

Ava’s breaths are a little more rapid, her words obviously striking a chord within her that Beatrice thinks she’d underestimated. _Could it be? Or is it just the attraction of this life?_

Beatrice can’t help a part of herself from doubting where this passionate plea of her wife’s younger self may be coming from. That is, until…

“I couldn’t have taken losing you then. I certainly can’t do so now.”

Both are caught in each other’s gaze, silent, assessing.

Until the unmistakable cry of a child breaks the moment.

“I’ll go.” Beatrice quickly stands up, hurrying out of the room, Ava a pace behind her.

“Bea—”

The older woman whirls around quickly to face her, causing Ava to stop short of crashing against her, though leaving a few measly inches between them. Both stare with wide eyes at the other, gazes snapping downwards at the other’s lips before darting away guiltily and each immediately taking a step backwards.

“I’ll meet you in the bedroom—”

“—I’ll sleep here.”

Both women’s statements overlap in a hurry, but both also catch the other’s words just as perfectly.

Flushed faces are thankfully shrouded mostly in shadows and their tense moment is broken once more by a much louder cry.

* * *

Ava slumps back down onto the couch.

If it was entirely possible, it seems every conversation she tries to have with this current Beatrice only brings more questions and more confusion.

They haven’t even broached the topic of how does she get back home? They keep falling into this life and all of its trappings and routines. Is she supposed to live like older Ava? Live in this moment, this time as if it were hers to live?

What if the time came for her to go back? Could she let all these go?

 _Yes, you will_.

Yeah, she would.

She has to. This future depended on her present ass getting her act together.

Ava’s gaze is drawn back onto the boxes stacked in a pile.

Okay. Past Beatrice had a problem with festivities. But this one didn’t. In fact, if she understood the underlying tone of their earlier conversation, THIS Beatrice wishes older Ava would get in on the festivities—at least for the children’s sake.

Might as well make herself useful.

Rubbing her hands in glee, Ava thinks to her future self. “You better appreciate all these when you get back, you lil' shit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone asked for fluff? Yeah. Me too. Keep asking but the muse keeps handing me these measly pieces instead.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas cheer anyone?

Beatrice wakes up slightly disoriented, her hand automatically reaching out for her wife, only for her to come across a cold side of the bed. Slowly, the memories trickle back in to remind her as her hand grasps the sheets of where her wife is supposed to be. Ava’s here, but she’s not.

She can try and reassure herself that everything will be fine, but how is she to know?

Nearly ten years ago, she woke up to a different version of the Halo Bearer. Definitely older and wiser, Ava Silva of her present stumped Sister Beatrice of old. She grins when she remembers how her wife of _now_ ran rings around her younger counterparts.

If Beatrice followed the rational that the time her wife spent in the past with her younger self was directly proportional to the time nineteen-year-old Ava would spend here, then it would be logical to presume her wife’s younger version should return to the past by the 24th.

The only problem she foresees is that she has no idea what to expect on her end.

Years ago, on the night young Ava Silva returned, things had been messy to say the least. Of course, by then, all that mattered was she had _her_ Ava back she didn’t think much about the older woman who had disappeared. At least not until later when the dust had literally and metaphorically settled.

Beatrice was—is—a planner. At the back of her head she had tried to keep notes, recalling what she could of the time she had spent with future Ava, trying to piece together what little tidbits she had shared about the future. Stupid younger self was of course more concerned about the war, the outcome, the battle, and trying to ignore the ring Ava wore on her finger.

She should have asked.

But she didn’t.

The sound of a frantic knock on her door right before a small figure barreled through and tried to fling themselves atop her bed distracted her from further ruminations.

“Charlie!” Beatrice immediately sits up to inspect the grinning face of the young boy who looked unharmed by throwing his entire weight onto the bed that was still a bit too high for him to climb. She noted the sedate pace with which his sister followed close behind, entering the room a bit shyly.

Pulling the boy carefully up and into her arms, Beatrice motioned for Sarah to follow with a welcoming smile of her own and motion of her head towards her side. Happy with the unspoken invitation, the little girl is quicker to move and climb the bed to snuggle beside the former nun, while Charlie seemed ready to doze back to sleep while snuggled atop her instead.

“You guys are up earlier than usual.” Beatrice nuzzles the soft curly hair of her little boy as she wraps an arm around Sarah’s shoulders to pull her in closer.

The much younger girl shrugs, looking up to observe the profile of this woman who wants to be her mother. “Ma woke us up.”

Beatrice looks down at her with a curious expression. “She did?”

“Well, more like the noise she was making.” The grin that forms on Sarah’s face makes her mother suspicious.

“What are you guys up to?”

Sarah chuckles which rouses Charlie to remember just why they were there. “Mommy! Mama made lights!” Thankfully, his sister translates on his behalf before their mom could ask for an explanation. “Ma put up the decors! It’s beginning to look like Christmas, Mom.”

To say Beatrice is surprised would be one thing. But it’s the look of joy and wonder in her children’s faces that makes her chest feel a little bit tight with how much she had been looking forward to their reactions for the upcoming holidays. They are so close to getting the adoption finalized and this year had been a year of firsts for them as parents and the kids. Sarah had easily taken Charlie as her little brother with hardly any fuss. Thankfully, Charlie had been the same. Then again, it’s not as if Charlie had known much beyond being orphaned so early. Sarah was his big sister. That was it. And thanks to Ava who seems to have cottoned on to being a parent so much quicker and so much easier than Beatrice did, the children were thriving.

Some days, Beatrice felt envious of the ease Ava had from day one with them.

Her wife liked to joke it was only because she had yet to really leave some of her own childish ways behind. But Beatrice knows better.

“Ma wanted us to see if you were awake so we can have breakfast together after you see what she’s done,” Sarah adds.

_Breakfast?_

“Breakfast?” The tone in her voice must have been telling as her daughter giggles. “Aunt Camila helped, mom.”

The sigh of relief may have been a tad exaggerated, but the truth is Ava’s victories in the kitchen still weighed significantly less than her losses. Thankfully, Beatrice was a pro in following instructions and have managed to cook and feed the two of them through the years they’ve lived together. Of course, with children now part of the picture, Ava had been more persistent than ever in the kitchen.

Lilith liked to joke Ava would be better off with supervision still. Though if pressed, Beatrice can admit her wife had been slowly getting better.

This Ava wasn’t her wife though. No. This Ava was young Ava at her finest and most inexperienced self when it came to the kitchen.

So, learning that Aunt Camila had done her part was most definitely a relief for Beatrice.

“Okay, kids. Let’s see what Ma has done with the place.”

Beatrice has barely placed Charlie back down on their carpeted bedroom floor before he was immediately running and had to raise her voice to remind him, “Charlie! No running!”

Only to hear him shout back something along the lines of “No Charlie! I’m Tinkerbell!”

Beatrice shifts her gaze upon her eldest who shrugs. “Ma had to tell him earlier he couldn’t actually fly.”

“Jesus.” Beatrice nearly facepalmed herself.

“Language.” Sarah grins at her before running out the door herself.

“No running!”

* * *

To say Beatrice is gobsmacked by the amount of tinsel, garlands, lights, and various other Christmas decors that she’d seen the moment she stepped foot outside of the bedroom throughout the house would be an understatement.

Her eyes had carefully taken in the amount of work—and thought—that must have gone into putting up everything overnight. To be fair, it wasn’t as if the items were carelessly hung and put up for the sake of just having them placed where they ought to be.

No, it seems Ava might actually have an eye for tasteful décor even before. Previous years’ attempts to decorate showed Beatrice’s flair often leaned towards specific colors being organized and relegated together to keep a semblance of order. Her wife on the other hand liked to mix everything, but still make the entire finished product look like something out of a magazine. She had teased Ava that her Pinterest was showing.

But if _this_ Ava pulled all of these off on her own… Well, Beatrice underestimated her wife’s capabilities then. The holiday-themed knickknacks they’ve collected through the years seems to have found their way atop a mantle, a few window ledges, and some shelves. Lights were up and twinkling and Beatrice is a bit taken aback. She was unaware they had this much Christmas lights stored away.

Still, a part of Beatrice is mollified to observe that the Christmas explosion in their house that happened overnight did not entail an overabundance that could have led to their home looking like Santa and his elves throwing up all over it. The ex-nun observes that even the theme of red and green is carefully interspersed throughout so that no overemphasis of the stereotypical Christmas colors is apparent.

Reaching the kitchen, Beatrice is pleased to see a few mini wreaths adorning the face of a few overhead cabinets. Her eyes immediately seek out Ava, who is unfortunately absent. Camila, however, is busy cooking up a storm by the stove—judging by the number of platters and bowls around. Lilith is sipping her coffee by the breakfast nook, scrolling through her phone no doubt for her daily dose of morning news.

“Good morning, Bea!” Camila cheerfully greets her and motions with her head towards the kettle where she knows hot water would be waiting for that morning cup of tea.

Lilith looks up from her phone briefly to throw a quick smile and “g’morning” before going back to her reading.

“Where’s Ava?” Beatrice bypasses the kettle and heads straight towards the coffee instead, earning her a questioning look from Camila which she decides to ignore. She has a feeling she’ll need the extra kick of coffee this morning. For what, Lord only knows.

Lilith chuckles. “She’s out in the back with Mary.”

“What for?”

“Debating the merits of putting up Christmas lights there or out front.”

“Oh God. How long has she been at this? Has she even slept at all?” Beatrice asks, mortified upon realizing and doing the math from when she parted ways with Ava last night. After tending to Charlie, she had been too self-conscious to face Ava again and thus had gone straight back to bed.

Camila shrugs. “I woke up briefly around 2AM, I think, because I heard some noise and tiptoed downstairs to see her flitting about with an armful of wreaths.”

Beatrice eyes widen and looks at the time. “She’s been up the whole night and this morning still,” she mutters.

Lilith must have heard her for her to pipe up. “Oh, to be young again.”

Camila shoots her a look. “You’re not that old— _we_ ” she points a spatula at Lilith, “are not that old.”

“Tell that to Ava and that battery pack on her back who literally decorated just about all floors of this townhouse—on her own. Her energy at this point must be equivalent to maybe two weeks’ worth for me.”

Camila rolls her eyes. “I think you’re mistaking ‘energy’ for ‘optimism’ there, love.”

“Nope.” Lilith doesn’t even look up as she takes another sip from her cup. “If I had a problem with optimism, I would point out there’s no sense in putting up decorations you’re bound to take down in a week or two.”

The silent glare Camila shot her way must have registered with Lilith as the taller woman immediately looks up and offers a placating smile. “But that’s if I had a problem with optimism. Which I obviously don’t.”

The continued silence has Lilith putting away her phone and standing up. “In fact, I’m loving this Christmas spirit so much I should probably offer Ava and Mary my assistance as well.”

In a few moments, Camila and Beatrice are left on their own in the kitchen.

“Where are the kids?” Beatrice barely remembers to ask, somewhat still flummoxed by the morning’s events and the sudden holiday cheer she has woken up to.

“Well, Charlie came down a bit before you did, shouting he’s now to be called Tinkerbell. I should warn you that child is a stone’s throw away from thinking happy thoughts will make him be able to fly. Sarah was almost right behind him, wanted a cookie and—I’m sorry, but I think Mary supplied the contraband. Pretty sure Charlie got some too. After that your sugar-infused children decided they wanted to go outside with their ma and Aunt Mary.”

“Oh God.”

“Just hearing myself retell the whole thing sort of makes me feel tired. Tired and old.”

Beatrice chuckles as she takes the seat Lilith had recently vacated.

“You called Lilith out.”

“Just keeping her on her toes. Though in a way she has it right with this younger version of Ava. Lord to be young again and teeming with energy.”

“Remember when we used to pull all-nighters with research?”

“And still be able to kick ass even without a nap under our belt? Yeah.” Camila continues to fuss over the pan with a whimsical smile on her face.

“We’ve been so busy.” Beatrice says absently, not really expecting a reply, but Camila chimes in anyway with a casual shrug the former almost misses.

“I know. I mean, Lilith and I aren’t even close to married, much less with two small humans to care for, yet there are times we find ourselves struggling to find time to just unwind and go on a proper date night.”

Beatrice grins, “I think that’s one of the first few things Ava and I sorted out when we moved in together and got busy with ‘adulting’ as she likes to call it. We agreed to always have date night set aside. We would always find time to still go out other times of course, but ‘date night’ is that one time that’s non-negotiable. No appointments are to be set on said day.”

Camila looks thoughtful, “That’s a really good idea.”

“Ava’s actually.”

“Really?”

“Said she saw it in a movie once. Seemed legit, she said.”

Camila laughs. “Of course, she’d find inspiration from her movies.”

The sudden slam of the backdoor opening nearly has Beatrice reaching for a weapon by her side that has been absent for years. She is somewhat relieved to find that even Camila’s stance was familiar defense position. So at least she’s not the only one still on guard.

The excited chatter of Charlie immediately follows, along with his wide eyes upon seeing his mother and runs his ways towards her, clambering up on her lap as Beatrice pushes the still steaming mug away lest her son topple it with his careless and cheerful hand gestures. Partly paying attention, she thinks it has something to do with some bird’s nest or something. The rest of said attention, however, is focused on Ava whom despite the hours of no sleep looked bright-eyed and still buzzing with restlessness, judging by her rocking on her feet.

Their eyes suddenly lock onto each other and Beatrice is unable to help herself but smile demurely at the younger woman.

“Did you see, Bea?” The tone of excitement in the Warrior Nun’s voice is hard to miss.

Beatrice nods. “I did. Thank you for going through all that trouble.” Her smile grows nearly as wide in response to the beaming smile that Ava shoots back as she waves her hand dismissively, “It’s no biggie. The kids’ first Christmas and all that. They need a proper holiday-themed house, yeah?” Ava looks down at Sarah who has taken up her favorite spot beside her ma, leaning against her thigh, hand clutching hers.

Sarah nods way too excitedly in response.

Beatrice turns to shoot Mary a glare who has the nerve to grin unrepentantly, grab a slice of bacon from a nearby plate, and quickly walks out of the room saying something about making a call. “Mary!” Camila’s admonishment falls on deaf ears.

“Ava, you should wash up. Breakfast will be ready soon.” Camila’s words are accompanied by movement still swift enough to catch Lilith’s hand with a flick of the spatula, the latter attempting to get her own slice of bacon. “Hey!”

“Wash your hands, woman. In fact, all of you should go get ready. Breakfast will be ready in a bit.”

The children’s shouts are way too loud for a simple breakfast announcement, even Ava is a bit surprised and wondering. Beatrice perceives this and offers an explanation, “Aunt Mary gave them cookies far too early.”

“Oh. Can I have one too?” Ava’s grin is contagious, but Camila is unaffected as she shoots the Halo Bearer a look. “Did I or did I not say breakfast will be ready soon?”

The grin drops from Ava’s face. “Yikes. Okay fine. Washing up.”

“See you in a bit, Bea.” Ava waves at her and Beatrice finds herself waving back.

Beatrice is still staring at the swinging door when Camila’s words catch her by surprise. “Just remember she’s not quite _your_ Ava, Bea. Not yet at least.”

The tone of warning is not lost on them both.

“I know.” Beatrice mutters.

* * *

They are in the middle of breakfast when the sound of the doorbell makes itself known.

Ava rolls her eyes. “When my supposedly older and wiser version returns, can someone please tell her 2019 called and said her taste in doorbell sucks.”

Lilith raises her hand, “I don’t mind passing along that message.”

Mary snorts, “You don’t mind aggravating each other like idiots even after all these years.”

Lilith shrugs, “Ava makes it fun.”

“Awww, you find me fun.”

“Older you. Not you. You’re still in the annoying stage.”

“Rude. I’m fantastic in _any_ stage, any age.”

“Lilith has a point. Even your voice is still kinda annoying.” Mary helpfully adds in.

The exaggerated gasp from Ava is accompanied by Camila’s gentle “tsk-ing” sound, followed by “That’s a tad unfair Mary.”

“Yeah, Mary. That’s unfair.” Ava echoes.

“It’s not Ava's fault if she’s a bit late in her development.” Camila interjects with a mischievous grin.

“Hey! What the f—” Ava barely catches herself upon seeing how intently the two children are watching the adults interact. “—I’m no teenage boy, you…you dumdums!”

Beatrice stands up and excuses herself to make her way downstairs to see to the door and whoever their guest is, leaving behind the ever-familiar bickering between Ava and Lilith. Sometimes, it’s like Mary has too much fun encouraging those two. And Camila…she tries, but her mischievous side often slips and makes an appearance.

“DUMDUMS!” Charlie repeats happily.

 _Great_ , Beatrice muses as she descends the stairs. _One more word to dissuade our child from using_.

Opening the door, she is a bit disappointed to see their neighbor Mel once again upon their doorstep.

“Hi, Beatrice!” Well at least she dropped the stupid nickname, the former nun thinks.

“Mel. Good morning.”

“Oh, yes! Good morning to you too. Pleasant day?”

Beatrice tries her damnedest not to roll her eyes. Her wife had accused their neighbor of watching reruns of old BBC shows with which to inflict the accent and mannerisms she tries to adopt upon them, especially whenever in Beatrice’s presence.

“This morning has its merits,” is all Beatrice affords their nosy neighbor.

“Oh. Well, I just came around to formally hand you that invitation you spoke of. Silly me, I forgot to hand it out yesterday.”

Beatrice blinks owlishly at the woman, both fully aware there was no invitation at all until she had brought it up. Taking the envelope in hand, Beatrice looks down and sees overdone and garish embossed font that held their hosts’ names and Beatrice’s.

She stiffens at the single name.

“I see it is addressed only to me and does not include that of my wife’s.” The steel in her voice is hard to miss.

Apparently one Mel is unfamiliar with as she literally takes a step back in surprise.

“I’m…I’m sorry. I think…uh…there was a problem…with the printers. Yes. There was a mix up and—”

Beatrice cuts her off, “It is impolite to hand out _supposedly_ formal invitations that contain such glaring error, much less actually hand them over anyway and _not_ even have the decency to inform your guests before handing them said invite of the mistake.”

The contrite look and paler version of her tan did not help Mel’s case at all especially with her stammering apology—or attempt, rather.

Beatrice handed back the invitation. “I’m afraid MY _WIFE_ and I will have to decline.”

And shut the door immediately.

“Wow.”

The voice behind her startles Beatrice to whirl around and see Ava leaning against the banister by the foot of the stairs.

“You sure told her.” Ava teases, noting the flushed look on the older woman.

“She had the audacity to exclude your name on the invitation.”

The noncommittal “hmm” from Ava did not say much, but “Something tells me that’s not all that pissed you off.”

Beatrice sighs. “I admit she’s been…a bit too…forward…ever since we first made her acquaintance.”

Ava crosses her arms and arches an eyebrow. “You mean flirting, right? She’s been flirting with you despite the fact that she’s married. And so are you.”

“Not that I’ve ever done anything to encourage such behavior.” Beatrice feels the need to insist quickly.

Ava’s reassuring smile encourages the ease of Beatrice’s posture. “I have a feeling that regardless of time, space, or age…neither version of me would ever have to worry about you _encouraging_ another woman.”

Beatrice sighs in relief. “I’m glad.”

They spend a few seconds staring at each other before Beatrice attempts to break the silence, “So—” but Ava chimes in at the same time “Bea—”

The taller woman motions for Ava to proceed.

Ava rubs the back of her neck in a somewhat sheepish gesture, “I was just wondering if you guys might want to get a tree.” The lilt at the end of her sentence made it sound more like a question.

Beatrice grins. “Shopping for a tree?”

Ava rolls her eyes. “I know. No chopping involved. Just...shopping for one. Or two.”

“You’re really into doing all these? This christmas decorating. You haven’t even slept!”

“While I’m here, it’s the least I can do. Be useful and all that.” Beatrice takes note that Ava did not deny the lack of sleep, while Ava doesn’t add that she’s doing this mostly for her future self. She wants to ensure her supposed older and wiser version would wise up to whatever is bothering her and focus on the family she has. The family young Ava had longed for.

“You really don’t have to…” Beatrice trails off, but Ava can see the glimmer of hope and excitement in her future wife’s eyes. Maybe it’s mostly for the kids’ sake, she muses.

“I want to! You know, for the children,” Ava adds in the hope of closing the case from further discussion, unaware that Beatrice is quick to grasp onto the same excuse to distract herself from thinking that she’s missed this: spending time with Ava.

Because at the root of it all, Ava was her best friend first. And any time spent with Ava is perfect time spent. Always.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to stave off of the angst. Constantly trying to remind myself this fic should be Hallmark-channel worthy. Not CW. BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lilith may have just inspired Beatrice with an idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's past Christmas, I know. Anyone still interested in this?

“You do know that THAT is not your wife, right?”

 _Mary’s greeting_ , Beatrice thinks, _leaves much to be desired_.

“At least not for like a couple more years and like a teeny growth spurt thrown in, maybe—has Ava always been _that_ small?” Mary tilts her head to one side and squints one eye, and then the other as she observes Ava running around with Camila.

“She’s still the same height, Mary,” Beatrice rolls her eyes.

Lilith comes up to them with three steaming cups, “Alright. Here’s your coffee, Mary. Tea for us ladies who have to deal with the children crashing off of their high when this,” Lilith makes a point to snub her nose at the sight before them, “is all over.”

“Hey!” Mary nudges Lilith with an elbow. “I’m pretty sure I wrangle those kids better than you do.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I wasn’t actually talking about little Charles and Sarah—who no doubt will be perfect angels and crash appropriately when they get home.” Lilith’s deadpan voice and bland look drive the point home for Mary who then laughs while Beatrice rolls her eyes at the two women beside her.

Camila and Ava are currently occupied with finding the perfect tree: whatever that means. Beatrice just hopes it’s something they can easily fit through the door. Even better if it’s something they can carry themselves.

“Ava, fer gods’ sakes, woman! Put that axe down. We talked about this! Nothing heavier than you!” Mary shouts while trying to hold back a laugh as Ava flips her off with both hands. “Hold this while I go knock some sense to both of your women.” Mary hands off her cup onto Beatrice as she walks away.

Lilith sidles a step closer to Beatrice as they stare at the duo turned trio as they move around the chosen tree.

“You both seem to be getting chummy,” Lilith states, earning her another roll of eyes from the other woman.

“It’s Ava, Lilith.”

Lilith shrugs, “Yeah. Just not _your_ Ava. Not yet.”

“I know that.”

Lilith lets a beat pass before deciding to poke a little further.

“Okay, what’s going on?”

Beatrice shoots her friend a glance, wordlessly asking for clarification.

“Ava called me two weeks ago.”

Okay, now she has Beatrice’s entire attention.

“What?”

“I’m pretty sure she was really calling for Camila but had the misfortune of catching me instead.”

“What for? Did Camila say anything?” Beatrice immediately finds herself seeking out the woman in question, but Lilith’s grasp on her forearm makes her pause.

“I already asked. Camila didn’t mention Ava calling her back. Then again, she’s on her third mobile phone in a month after burning through the first two. Even if Ava tried calling her, she might not have been able to get through. Possibly why she tried the house phone and—ta da—reached me instead.”

Beatrice unconsciously brushes the tips of her fingers against her lower lip as she ponders the puzzle left behind by her wife.

“So, what’s going on? Is there trouble in paradise?” Lilith teases but immediately drops the grin when she sees the look on her long-time friend. “No, shit. You’re kidding.”

Beatrice waves a hand in a dismissive gesture, “It’s nothing dramatic, Lilith. But I’m afraid something has been bothering Ava and whatever it was has begun to creep into our home.”

“And your relationship?”

Beatrice nods reluctantly. “Again, nothing overly dramatic, Lilith. It was a little disagreement about holiday plans before…”

“Before the ‘holiday exchange’?” Lilith suggests.

Throwing her a baleful look in reply, Beatrice decides not to honor Lilith’s help with a verbal response other than “I’m tempted to go looking for answers to be honest.”

“You’re within the right.”

“Am I? I would never violate Ava’s privacy—regardless of the circumstances we’re in.”

Lilith quickly turns on her feet to face Beatrice with an expression that makes the other woman wary.

“ _You_ wouldn’t. But Ava would.”

“What? No! Ava would never violate my privacy either! We trust each—” Lilith rolls her eyes and cuts off Beatrice’s words.

“We’ve long established that blah blah blah—what I meant was _that_ Ava,” Lilith exaggeratingly points towards said woman who is currently being wrapped along with the tree thanks to Mary’s efforts, “wouldn’t exactly be violating _Ava_ ’s privacy. Would she?”

“Damn you,” Beatrice mutters under her breath, even if a certain spark of interest makes its appearance in her eyes.

Lilith snorts. “You’re welcome.”

Then walks away, shouting, “Oi, Mary! We need a tree stand, not a tree stump!”

“That is another dig at my goddamn height when we all know very well Camila is shorter than I am!!!” Ava struggles against the wrapper wound around her AND the tree.

“I’m the Christmas star!” Camila smiles cheerfully just as Lilith reaches her side and kisses her on the cheek, “You bet you are.”

“What? No. Ew. Stop,” Ava delivers in a deadpan voice then shifts onto a tone filled with the beginnings of irritation. “Beatrice! A little help here!”

Ava’s call of her name finally stirs the woman back into the land of the moving while trying to figure out a way to put Lilith’s suggestion into actual implementation.

Beatrice tells herself she only wishes to help her wife.

* * *

It’s quiet.

A rare moment in their household since the children came into their lives and Beatrice revels in it, even if a part of her feels the need to ensure the silence is not a prelude to trouble.

After ending up with a tree that almost didn’t fit through their front door—despite Camila and Beatrice’s well-meaning reminders of the actual measurement of said entry—her friends decided to suddenly bail with their own plans of sorts. She supposed their plans had nothing to do with the spike of energy that lingered in the two children who had begun to run up and down the stairs just because.

Mary claimed she had friends to visit while Camila pleaded to last-minute holiday shopping. Even Lilith, whom Beatrice knows would rather go claw to claw with a Tarask than attempt to step foot in a crowded mall during holiday season, insisted she had to accompany her girlfriend.

Well, Beatrice would never begrudge her friends time to their own vacation.

She more than appreciates how her sisters have attempted to mold a part of their lives into this life she and Ava had made for themselves.

Sometimes she can’t help but wonder what her parents would have to say about this life she’s managed to forge for herself…

Beatrice peeks into the room of their youngest and sighs in fond exasperation at the sight of the little boy obviously wiped out and down for the count, the sugar high obviously having waned. She’s thankful someone managed to get the boy’s shoes and socks off at least. Beatrice enters the room and manages to wrangle his grey little hoodie off, leaving him in a white shirt adorned with a barcode and the word “PRICELESS” beneath it. Ava’s purchase off of the internet.

Charlie groans, unhappy about the interruption of his sleep.

“It’s okay, Charlie. You can go back to sleep.” Beatrice whispers as she slowly runs her fingers through his hair, gently scratching his scalp in the process—a little trick she actually learned from her wife about what helped lull their son to sleep.

“No. Peter.” Charlie grumbles before turning over on to this other side and despite Beatrice’s chuckle, remains taken in by slumber.

Spying the book by James Barrie off to the side, Beatrice figures which story her son is still hung up on. Well, better a book than a cartoon about a cow and a chicken, she figures.

Brushing a quick kiss against his temple, Beatrice leaves Charlie’s room and drops by Sarah’s. She’s pleased to see that the young girl at least had taken the time to change out of her clothes from their trip outside. Sweeping a stray thin lock of hair away from Sarah’s cheek, Beatrice leans down and bestows the same quick kiss she gave her son earlier and smiles when she notes how Sarah barely stirs.

Two children down for the afternoon.

One future wife to find.

But first, perhaps she ought to get herself changed as well.

Beatrice reaches for the door to the walk-in closet just as it opens and Ava walks out.

Both startle enough that the ex-nun takes a quick step back on instinct to avoid any sort of collision while the other woman somehow manages to catch the side of her head against the frame.

The yelp of pain immediately catches the older woman’s attention and in no time at all, Ava startles to find herself a scant few inches away from her… _friend_. Her friend whose eyes are focused on inspecting Ava’s head, grazing her fingertips through her scalp in the process of trying to ascertain for herself that no lasting damage was inflicted.

_Why is she so close?_

Her friend who apparently had quite a healthy amount of freckles—did Sister Beatrice wear makeup or something back in the day? How did she not notice this before?

_I should say something._

Also, was Beatrice seriously always this pretty? The whole hyperfocus is seriously beginning to look hella attractive on her friend..

_Say something!_

“I’m fine.”

Wait. Was that a crack in her voice?

Ava internally rolls her eyes at herself.

“I think you hit that one pretty hard, Ava. I keep telling you. You seriously should be more careful. You aren’t invincible anymore, you know,” Beatrice mumbles as she pulls away a little to look Ava in the eye, belatedly realizing she had the wrong person in mind.

_Oh._

Beatrice clears her throat and immediately takes a few steps back.

Ava frowns, “I…are you saying I don’t have the halo? Here? I don’t…uh…I don’t…” Ava trails off.

Aware she had already slipped, Beatrice can only manage a nod.

“Oh.”

A beat passes.

“And…I’m okay?” The worry in Ava’s voice catches Beatrice’s attention and the former nun knows what the real question is.

She musters an encouraging smile to alleviate Ava’s concerns, “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

Beatrice is alarmed when Ava suddenly falls down to her knees on the floor, sobbing.

“Ava!”

In a split second, she is right there kneeling beside her, hands fumbling, confused and scared as to what was wrong and if there was anything she could do—if there was anything she should be doing, if she even had the right to touch her so familiarly.

Concern trumps over everything else, however, and hardly a few seconds pass before Beatrice throws her consideration for propriety and grasps her _friend_ —this Ava is her friend at the very least—by the arms as she tries not to shake her too hard in trying to demand an answer.

“Ava! Please. What’s wrong? Are you hurt? Are you in pain?”

The barrage of questions does nothing in the way of shaking Ava out of her sobs, though the younger woman responds by surprising Beatrice further when she throws her arms around the former nun’s neck—along with her whole weight, nearly toppling both onto the floor.

Beatrice’s discipline the sole thing that keeps them upright.

Beatrice’s arms wrap right back around the other woman.

Instinctively, Beatrice finds herself burrowing right into the crook of Ava’s neck. A familiar spot. A comfortable one.

Ava, seemingly overwhelmed for whatever reason, seeks comfort, and unconsciously reaches out to the woman she recalls having given it to her freely and with hardly a restraint. Beatrice remembers that afternoon in Mother Superion’s office like no time had passed. A bit taken aback by Ava’s actions, but the automatic response is just as familiar. Tend to Ava’s pain. Comfort her. Beatrice will always be there for Ava.

She would draw whatever it is that pains Ava as her own if it means the Warrior Nun would be spared. Beatrice would do just about anything…whatever it takes…

She may have been a tad late in realizing it in the past, but the truth is, regardless of which _version_ of this woman she holds in her arms, Beatrice has always loved Ava—loves her just as much to keep her arms wrapped around her: her past, her present, her always.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is obviously taking longer than intended. I was in a mood last month and just about everything I wrote had a dark cloud over them. In some parts, even *I* recognized it was bordering on "agonizing." I had to keep reminding myself that despite the plot I had in mind, I could at least spare readers the angsty details. And so rewrites happened on and off during what spare time I had. If anyone is still reading this piece, might have to bear with this WIP for a tad longer. I don't see the next chapter being the last one.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A necessary conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More words. Hope it does its job.

The sound of crying has stopped, but Ava remains wrapped around Beatrice.

Neither makes a move to dislodge themselves from their position.

Neither makes a sound to break the quiet that has descended upon them.

Slowly, it is Ava who gently extricates herself away from the other woman.

Somewhere in the middle of her tears tapering off to hiccups, Ava finally realized the warm weight of a hand in the middle of her shoulder blades, the arm wrapped around her waist, and the scent of something familiar and uniquely…Beatrice. It’s reminiscent of a time not so long ago, or maybe for this point in time—years ago—when Ava was accused of something she would never have done. A time when she was stuck in the presence of strangers and literally stuck in a strange new place, yet amidst the pain of struggling to assert what she knew to be true, Ava found herself instinctively seeking comfort in someone she barely knew.

Someone who did not turn her away and instead attempted to give Ava what she needed.

Ava thinks it’s amazing how being in Beatrice’s arms feel…right.

But then she remembers where she is.

Despite her better instinct to immediately pull away, a part of Ava feels reluctant and thus finds herself slowly leaning back, feeling the other woman’s hand graze the small bit of skin between the waistband of her sweats and her top. Ava briefly stiffens and Beatrice must have realized the reason for both suddenly find themselves with nearly three feet worth of distance between them.

Ava somehow has scrambled backwards all while on her ass, with Beatrice somewhat more gracefully ending up on her knees, back ramrod straight, legs folded beneath her thighs, weight resting on her heels, and hands atop her lap.

Ava mulls how entirely apropos their positions are: one a mess and the other a vision of discipline and grace.

“I’m sorry.” Beatrice breaks the silence.

Ava’s head snaps up, seeing the other unable to meet her eyes.

“What for?”

Beatrice’s lips press themselves into a thin line. “I’ve made you uncomfortable.”

“No, you didn’t,” Ava insists.

The older woman looks up to gauge Ava’s sincerity, forcing the younger woman not to look away. An act all-too obvious to Beatrice.

Beatrice’s small sigh and narrowing of eyes prompt Ava’s shoulder to slump downwards in resignation to the truth, “Okay. Maybe a little—but it was more of surprise!”

“Surprise?” The call for explanation was obvious.

“Well, it’s not as if I’ve ever had the pleasure of Sister Beatrice’s hand against my bare skin,” Ava mumbles just loud enough for Beatrice to catch what was said.

The smirk that forms on Beatrice’s lips causes Ava to turn red, and with a petulant voice barks a quick “Shut up!” as she jumps back on to her feet, runs, and phases right through the nearest wall.

Alone, the smirk on the former nun’s lips disappear.

 _What are you doing,_ she can’t help but ask herself.

* * *

Ava is tempted to run right out of the front door.

In fact, she’s a few feet and one impulsive move away from saying “fuck it” and phasing through said doorway when she stumbles and falls nearly flat on her face.

“Fuck!” The barely held exclamation rings through the empty floor and when Ava looks at what cut off her nearly clean escape, she spies a small red sneaker. The ready profanity dissolves at the tip of her tongue.

_Charlie._

Right.

She can’t just run.

Not from this life.

Not after learning what she—well, future her—has.

“Ava?”

The soft but quick footsteps remind her of why she wanted to run.

But the look on Beatrice’s face when she sees Ava on the floor, traces her eyes down her legs onto the wayward shoe, and briefly takes note of the Warrior Nun’s proximity to the entrance—or rather, exit…

When the look on Beatrice’s face alerts Ava to having pieced the situation together, it reminds Ava all the same of why she had to stay.

Why she _wants_ to stay.

“I wasn’t going to leave.” Ava huffs as she gets back up, taking the child’s no doubt missing footwear along the way to throw it back into the nearest hall closet.

Choosing to ignore the pursing of Beatrice’s lips at her action, Ava focuses on trying to explain.

“Okay, maybe I was thinking of exiting those doors, but I was…I just wanted to get some air. Is that a crime? Am I not allowed to leave the house or something?”

Beatrice, in a familiar move, leans back against the wall with her hands clasped behind forming a buffer between the bottom of her spine and the hard surface.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Yeah. Like your face didn’t say anything upstairs.” Ava pouts, arms crossing in front in a defensive posture. She notices how Beatrice briefly stiffens at her words before donning her stoic expression.

“Don’t.”

Ava surprises Beatrice with the hard underlying tone wrapped in that single contraction.

“What?” She can’t help but frown, trying to ascertain what else has gone wrong.

“Don’t use that face on me.”

Beatrice could feel her jaw slackening slightly, evidence of her perplexity given Ava’s words.

“What face?” She can’t help but ask mostly out of curiosity.

“THAT face. That ‘Sister Beatrice’ face when you give nothing away. It’s your ‘I’m trying to be polite and holy so I’d rather keep shit to myself’ face. You don’t give me that face. EVER. So, I’d appreciate it very much if you don’t start now.”

Beatrice stares at Ava for a moment before her shoulders lose its rigid hold and her eyes close, head turning slightly away from the Warrior Nun.

 _How is this supposed to work?_ Beatrice wonders.

“I’m not an idiot, Bea.”

Ava’s words startle her into looking back at the younger woman. Beatrice observes Ava’s posture, her hands tucking themselves into the pockets of her sweats, shoulders a bit hunched forward, eyes unable to meet hers directly.

“I’m not gonna jump you or anything. You don’t have to worry about that.” Ava waves one hand in a dismissive gesture before tucking it back into her pocket.

Beatrice pushes herself off of the wall and takes one step forward, “That’s not at all what—”

“I was relieved.” Ava cuts her off, finally looking right at her.

Ava continues. “I _am_ relieved. I…this… I can’t help but think of that expression you and the rest of the nuns would say. ‘In this life or the next’. Remember?”

Though likely rhetorical, Beatrice nods briefly in reply.

“I’m happy in _this_ life, Bea. I don’t think I’m even going to need a next one.”

Again, tears begin to gather in Ava’s eyes, but the younger woman is obviously struggling not to let them fall. And Beatrice struggles not to rush forward and drag her back into her arms—the need to comfort her an ever-persistent instinct.

Ava looks at Beatrice and notes the slight differences that sets her apart from _her_ Sister Beatrice.

Older, with her facial features just a little bit sharper, her eyes a little bit wiser—if that were even possible—sign of life events she herself has yet to experience. She’s still larger than life in Ava’s eyes. A quiet presence that is stealthy when necessary, but for Ava, has become a constant and palpable one, even in the short amount of time she’s known the nun and even in this version of the nun she has come to know.

“I know you’re not mine. And I’m under no illusion that as much as this life thrills me like nothing you could possibly believe…I’m not ready for it. Just as I’m…”

Beatrice looks at her with something indescribable, something unfamiliar.

But Ava persists. “Just as I’m not ready for _you_ either.”

“And I know that you don’t really see _me_ unless I do stupid shit like try to run away. That look you had on your face when you thought I was going to run…THAT’s the face my Sister Beatrice likes to make. That’s the face of the Beatrice I know and that’s reserved for ME. Young me. Not the me of this time who apparently has grown enough to get her shit together to end up marrying a woman way out of her league and actually building a family of her own.”

Beatrice looks like she’s about to interrupt but Ava puts a hand up to stall her.

“Ever since I woke up in this life, I have had a complicated time trying to figure out the way you’d look at me and what it means and how I’m supposed to react. Well, a few minutes ago is when it cemented things for me. I’m not _her_ , Bea. I’m trying to help out here, but now I wonder if I’m being of much use.”

* * *

Beatrice is trying to come up with the words to assure the other woman that she _knows_. She knows and she’s aware and it’s just a little confusing sometimes when she realizes that maybe she misses her wife. Not just her wife of this time and place, but the wife Beatrice can expect to come home to with music blaring loud enough to wake the dead.

Her wife she has to talk down from throwing the kids a party for every month they spend since they came to live with them.

Her wife who has a hard time saying no to Charlie—“Nun Chuck” as Ava’s dubbed him: the only one allowed to call him said name whether he’s in between new character identities or not. A name she bestowed upon him as homage to Beatrice’s “previous career.”

Her wife who didn’t really keep secrets unless it was a badly kept one in her attempt to surprise Beatrice with something romantic like picnic in a library. Beatrice was part scandalized at the idea of food anywhere near precious books, but at the same time in awe of how Ava could have pulled it off.

Her wife who rarely came home late and often had a lengthy story about what held her up, ready for telling her and the kids as soon as she came through the front door.

So maybe Beatrice missed her wife a little bit more than she thought she knew.

It just took a younger version of said wife to bring about the truth Beatrice was hesitant to face.

This Ava was familiar in her loud and clumsy ways, terrible jokes, with that banter and easy rapport that seemed to have formed naturally between them even during their few months together as new _team mates_.

Not quite _her_ Ava as of late who was a little bit withdrawn and quiet, came home later than usual, and when she was home, seemed miles away in thought. Beatrice knows Sarah had begun to notice, but to her wife’s credit, she knows Ava struggled to act like nothing was different whenever she interacted with the children.

But that was the problem, wasn’t it?

Ava _struggled_.

Ava struggled when she never did.

Between the two of them, Beatrice could swear Ava struggled the least—if she did at all.

Ava was the natural. She acted like everything was so damn easy.

Ava never struggled to show affection, certainly never struggled to tell Beatrice what she thought about—even when it was at 2AM and Beatrice could have waited till sunrise to learn about some new trivia about penguins. They move into this stereotype life of suburbia and before the day ends, somehow Ava ends up making friends, save for the one she dubbed “Cheeto wife.”

Ava never even seemed to struggle with being a parent.

It was like one day she just knew what it was like to be a mom.

Some days Beatrice feels like a failure, a bit like the stereotypical husband who comes home and barely knows his family except for work.

Ava never seems to resent her for her time, or lack thereof, or even really seems fazed at all. She takes to the children and though she’s formed her own sort of relationship with them, Beatrice knows they are more likely to shout for “ma” first than “mom.”

Sometimes Beatrice wants to call up her parents for failing to teach her on what a good parent must be like. But that would be a moot argument considering just what Ava’s childhood had consisted of.

So maybe it’s just really her that’s the problem.

And yet, Ava never complained. In all their years together, she took Beatrice’s issues in stride, assured her “everything’s okay” and found ways to teach her without even trying. Without even knowing, it was Ava who taught Beatrice to be a friend, a best friend, a girlfriend, a lover, a wife, and then a mother.

And maybe…just maybe, Beatrice had gotten spoiled.

Maybe all she really needs to do is wait for Ava. Or hell, maybe just plain _ask_ her even.

Beatrice knows all of these. If only she can find the time to apologize to _this_ Ava and explain to her what she’s just realized.

Because of course this is the perfect time for the front door to open with Mary trudging in.

“Hey! Are the little munchkins down?”

Her wide grin falters at the look on the other two women’s faces.

“Wrong timing, huh? Let me just go upstairs and y’all can go back to staring at each other.”

Mary excuses herself between the two and takes the stairs two steps at a time, though pausing at the top to holler “Don’t do anything underage Ava and _Sister_ Beatrice wouldn’t do!”

To Ava’s credit, she flushes a little but remains largely unfazed.

She meets Beatrice’s gaze head on.

“Do you see _me_ now?”

The question is posed in a near whisper.

Beatrice takes a step forward, her voice matching Ava’s vocal register.

“I’ve always seen you, Ava. Even before. I was just a little better at hiding when I was still Sister Beatrice—especially when I was still Sister Beatrice and didn’t understand my own thoughts and emotions.”

“Bea—”

“I’m sorry, okay?” Beatrice cuts Ava off with an apology and the younger woman pauses to listen, understanding that she wasn’t done.

“I didn’t mean to confuse you with _my_ Ava. It’s just you’ve been reminiscent of how my wife is and I missed that. I missed just being WITH you—even the version of you when you were still _just_ a friend.”

Ava frowns. “I thought you said it wasn’t anything dramatic, but the way you’re going on, it sounds like older me—”

“I’m the problem. I’ve been acting…maybe I’ve been acting a little spoiled. I feel like Ava’s attention is elsewhere and maybe I’m just not used to sharing…I don’t know!” Beatrice closes her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose in frustration, hand on her hip.

“Okay. I’m thinking this whole ‘non-drama’ you think you two have got going may be doing more damage than you are trying to promote. So, why don’t we try to deal with this first, yes?”

“First? As compared to what else? There’s no ‘damage’ to speak of, Ava.”

“You claim to miss your wife whom for all intents and purposes is right here with you—you know what I mean,” Ava rolls her eyes at the look Beatrice shoots her. “Because of what? A few missed dinners? Late nights? What is going on, Bea?”

“I DON’T KNOW!” Beatrice snaps, startling Ava to take a step back at the raised voice.

A rarity in and of itself.

“I don’t know, okay?! I know a lot of things like I claim to know you, know my wife, but for some reason, her distance as of late is something I do NOT know and can NOT understand!”

Ava opens her mouth a few times to try and attempt to speak, but comes up with “Did you uh…ask her?”

Beatrice scoffs, “Ask her. Of course, I asked her! I asked her ‘hey babe, what’s on your mind? You’ve been acting odd lately’.”

Ava blinks owlishly.

“You call her ‘babe’?”

Beatrice shoots her a glare.

“Right. Focusing.” Ava mutters. “So, you asked her and…?”

“She said it was nothing. She was tired with work and studying and just had a lot of things on her mind. And then she would act like nothing was amiss. But I could see her stress even further with ‘pretending’. She tends to do that.” Beatrice looks at her pointedly. “My wife hates to think she’s being a burden so sometimes she pretends.”

Ava glares right back at her. “You wanna say something?”

Beatrice opens her mouth but stops and presses her lips into a thin line as she takes an unconscious step back and shakes her head.

Trying to come back from the tension-filled precipice they seem to have ended up in, Ava tries once more.

“Look. You mentioned she works and studies. I uh saw a few of her stuff while I was changing upstairs.”

Ava fidgets before she reaches back into her pocket and pulls out a smartphone.

The colorful case is vibrant enough to let Beatrice knows it belongs to her wife.

“I didn’t really mean to, but right before the phone complained about a low battery and shutting down, I saw a recent message notification.”

Beatrice stiffens, “You read her phone?”

“I didn’t mean to! And it’s not my fault I happen to read fast!”

“Yet here you are with her phone…what did you plan on doing exactly?”

Ava hates Beatrice’s tone and points a finger at the other woman, “Hey! I saw the message, it looked important, and I was on my way to look for you and bring THIS phone to you and let you know that maybe YOU should take a look at it.”

“I don’t intrude on my wife’s privacy.” Beatrice says through clenched teeth, earlier morning’s conversation with Lilith making itself known in the back of her mind.

“Oh, you don’t? Well fine. This conversation is going nowhere. Here.” Ava throws the phone at Beatrice who deftly catches it with one hand as Ava runs back upstairs.

“Where are you going?”

“The top-most floor in case the kids look for me.”

Ava pauses mid-way and turns back around to look down at the older woman.

“Did you ever stop to think there must be a reason why _this_ happened? Of all the times, of all the places. Why now?”

Beatrice takes in Ava’s words.

She has. Or at least, had. Back when she was still a nun, and when faced with an older Ava and a future she won’t speak of, Sister Beatrice wondered. But of course, she had forgotten. Especially after everything they had been through and finding this life for themselves…she forgot.

But Ava’s words now remind her of the possibilities she once thought about extensively.

Ava takes Beatrice’s silence as a noncommittal answer and resumes her climb.

“My Ava…”

Ava freezes at the words.

“Years ago, when I was still a nun…the nun you know now in your time…my Ava back then returned on Christmas Eve.”

Struggling not to let the words affect her lest it not come true or bring false hope, “What, like some Christmas fucking miracle?” she asked without turning to see how her words would affect the ex-nun.

“Actually, yes. Yes, Ava. Like some fucking miracle you came back none the worse for wear in time for Christmas Day.”

Though taken aback at hearing a curse word in Beatrice’s voice, Ava overlooks it in lieu of the possibility.

“So…you think…” Ava trails off, uncertain about putting hope into actual words.

Beatrice sighs and hopes the past does not fail her.

“If your time spent here is directly proportional to the time my Ava will have spent in the past, then I suspect you’ll be back where you belong by the 24th.”

Ava’s hand tightens its grip on the railing.

“Good. You’ll have your life AND your wife back just in time.”

Without looking back, Ava climbs the rest of the stairs and soon disappears from Beatrice’s sight.

* * *

“I feel like I just walked into a season finale of a cliffhanger.”

The words surprise Beatrice enough to nearly leap backwards.

A feat, Lilith doesn’t take lightly considering her former colleague’s training and discipline.

Camila takes a swipe at Lilith’s shoulder in admonishment.

“Don’t worry, Bea. We didn’t hear much really.”

“Yeah. Just the whole ‘you’ll have your life AND your wife back just in time’.” Lilith mimics Ava for good measure.

Beatrice’s hand suddenly holds a familiar dagger, startling the couple enough for Camila to hold her hands up with an exasperated but somewhat fearful look on her face while Lilith frowns, “Where the hell have you been hiding that??”

Beatrice shrugs. “This incident made me wary and thought I should start carrying again just in case.”

“You kiss your children with THAT on your person?!”

“You make love to your girlfriend with a gun under your pillow?” Beatrice retorts.

“HEY! That was ONE time!” Lilith stabs a finger against Beatrice’s sternum in protest.

A protest Camila responds to with a bland tone, “That one time could also have been our LAST.”

“Is the episode over?” Mary’s voice travels down the staircase, before the woman herself appears.

“Could you all stop referring to my life like a TV show?” Beatrice swings around to face Mary with dagger carelessly swinging through her fingers.

“Woah. That bad we’re bringing weapons out now? What did our little Ava do?”

“It’s more like what Bea did, I think. Ava looked pissed,” Lilith shares.

“I thought you said you didn’t see much?” Beatrice asks suspiciously.

“Camila said ‘hear’. I did the ‘seeing’ for both of us.”

Beatrice gives off one more deep sigh before climbing the stairs.

“Hey! Where are you going? You haven’t shared what went on while we were out!” Lilith has the audacity to smirk.

In a rare move, Beatrice flips Lilith off.

“Rude! We just wanna know what happens to our favorite show, Bea.” Mary helpfully adds.

“Why not grab a rerun of YOUR own shows where Mary tries to live like The Bachelorette, Camila tries NOT to emulate Gordon Ramsay from Hell’s Kitchen, and Lilith does her best impression of her own show where she tries to figure out when and how to propose to her girlfriend.”

In a few moments, all three are left behind in stunned silence.

“Propose??” Camila’s question triggers Lilith’s next persistent thought.

_Ava doesn’t deserve to come home on Christmas Eve to a dead wife._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still with me? Thank you to those who left comments. Especially those who actually bother to leave one for every chapter! More importantly, those who took the time to explain what they like and why they like certain bits and shit. I shall attempt to respond to each. I suck at that and I apologize in advance. I really am grateful a bunch of you are still sticking around for this out-of-time holiday fic.

**Author's Note:**

> Consider this an excuse for domestic dreams, really. And yes, I'm attempting to write fluff. So help me, God. Let's see if it works.


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